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THE 


DISCARDED WIFE 

% 


5 


♦ 

OK, 


WILL SHE SUCCEED. 


BY 


MISS ELIZA A. DUPUY. 

if 

AUTHOR OF “THF. CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE,” ‘THE DETHRONED HEIRESS,” “ THE HIDDEN SIN,” 
“THE GIPSY’S WARNING,” “A NEW WAY TO WIN A FORTUNE,” “THE CANCELLED WILL,” 
“WAS HE GUILTT; OR, HOW HE DID IT,” “THE MYSTERIOUS GUEST,” 

“ALL FOR LOVE,” “WHO SHALL BE VICTOR,” “MICHAEL RUDOLPH,” 

“WHY DID HE MARRY HER,” “THE PLANTER’S DAUGHTER,” ETC. 



u Thou knowest well what once I was to thee ; 

One who for love, of one I loved, — f6r thee ! 

Would have done , or borne the sins of all the world. . , . 

But , for the future, 

I will as soon attempt to entice a star 
To perch upon my finger , or the wind 
To follow me like a dog, as think to keep 
A woman's heart again ." — 1'estus. 


• 7 


04 b 





PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 

S06 CHESTNUT STREET. 

A • 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by , 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 

Id. COPY 

SUPPLIED FROM 

COPYRIGHT FILES 

MISS ELIZA “T^tTPUY’S WORKS, 




Each work is complete in one large duodecimo volume. 


THE DISCARDED WIFE; OR, WILL SHE SUCCEED 1 
THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE . 

THE MYSTERIOUS GUEST. 
THE HIDDEN SIN. A Sequel to “The Dethroned Heiress.” 
THE DETHRONED HEIRESS. 

THE GIPSY’S WARNING. 
ALL FOR LOVE; OR, THE OUTLAW’S BRIDE. 

A NEW WAY TO WIN A FORTUNE. 

THE CANCELLED WILL. 

WHO SHALL BE VICTOR ? Sequel to “ The Cancelled Will.” 
THE PLANTER’S DA UGHTER. 

MICHAEL RUDOLPH. 

WAS HE GUILTY; OR, HOW HE DID IT. 

WHY DID HE MARRY HER ? 

Price of each, $1.75 in Cloth ; or $1.50 in Paper Cover. 


Above books are for sale by all Booksellers. Copies of any one, 
or all of the above books, will be sent to any one, to any place, 
postage pre-paid, on receipt of their price by the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


CONTENTS. 


4 » — ■ ■ — — — 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I.— A VOYAGE TO EUROPE 21 

II. — THE ABDUCTION 42 

III. — BROTHER AND SISTER G2 

IV. — CLAIRE’S PROGRAMME 74 

V. — ARMAND’S HISTORY 86 

VI. — GETTING THINGS READY 113 

VII. — A YOUNG CIRCE 137 

VIII. — LIFE AT LATOUR 157 

X.— ON THE VICTIM’S TRAIL 177 

X. — A CATASTROPHE 197 

xi.— latour’s death 202 

XII. — THE LAST HOUR OF AGNES 224 

XIII. — FREE AT LAST 233 

XIV. — PLANS FOR THE FUTURE 241 

XV. — A NEW DEVELOPMENT 261 

XVI. — MAY GETS AN ANSWER 270 

XVII.— THE LOVERS 286 

XVIII.— A NEW JAILER 306 

XIX. — A TREACHEROUS ALLY 327 

XX. — PREPARED TO ELOPE 346 

( 19 ) 


20 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXI. — THE AVENGER ON THE TRACK 355 

XXII.— OLD FRIENDS 374 

XXIII. — A PERVERSE CHILD 394 

XXIV. — THE YOUNG REBEL DISPOSED OF 410 

XXV. — AN APPROACHING CLIMAX 432 

XXVI.— LOUISE REPENTANT 447 

XXVII.— FACE TO FACE ONCE MORE 453 

XXVIII. — THE WEDDING 475 

XXIX. — THE RINGS OF FATE 483 

XXX. — DESTINY AT WORK 499 

XXXI. — AN ELOPEMENT PREVENTED 520 

XXXII. — SUNSHINE 539 

XXXIII. — CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE 560 

XXXIV.— THE HUSBAND’S SEARCH 584 


s. 


THE DISCARDED WIFE; 

OR, 

WILL SHE SUCCEED] 


CHAPTER I. 

A VOYAGE TO EUROPE. 

O N the return of Andrew Courtnay to the Grange, 
preparations were completed for the European 
journey, and the family set out, taking with them old 
Betty as their only attendant. She pleaded so ear- 
nestly to go that her mistress had not the heart to 
refuse her, as she was still active enough to perform 
the duties of a waiting woman to both Mrs. Courtnay 
and her young daughter. 

The party arrived safely in New York, and after 
spending a few days there, embarked for Liverpool, on 
a first-class steamer. The sea voyage seemed to act as 
an elixir on the health and spirits of Claire, and with 
every mile that severed her more widely from the land 
of her birth, she appeared to cast from her a portion of 
the heavy weight of sorrow that had so oppressed her. 

Bloom returned to her cheeks, her eyes brightened 
with their old animation, and Julia again found in her 

( 21 ) 


22 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


a companion and friend, ready to share in her sports or 
amuse her with marvelous tales of giants, and genii, 
of which she had an exhaustless store in her own fertile 
imagination. 

This was but another phase of the protean nature of 
this young creature, though her protectress flattered 
herself that she was forgetting the sad blight that had 
fallen upon her. Claire had only buried her passion 
and regrets in the depths of her heart, but above them 
lay the resolve she had expressed, and never for one 
moment did she swerve from it. 

Her day would come ; that thought alone gave her 
courage to live — to recover from the stunning blow 
that had cast her down from perfect happiness to the 
depths of despair. She had struggled through her 
slough of despond, and now let him who had thrust 
her into it beware. She could wait, as she had said to 
Agnes, for she knew that she had much to do before 
she was herself prepared for the conflict she meant to 
wage. 

While the voyage lasted, they had charming weath- 
er, and they were safely landed in Liverpool, on the 
eleventh day from their embarkation. A month was 
spent in England, and then they crossed the channel to 
La belle France. Andrew’s conduct was extremely cir- 
cumspect, and his mother deluded herself with the 
belief that he had seen the folly of his love for Claire, 
and was arriving at that equable state of feeling 
toward her, which would enable him to resign her, 
without a pang of regret. 

If she could have looked in that turbulent heart, she 
would have seen there what would have appalled her. 
Claire’s renewed bloom and brightness only intensified 


A VOYAGE TO EUROPE. 


23 


the resolve to win her at all hazards, either with, or 
without her own consent. He watched her at a dis- 
tance, and brooded constantly on the possibility of suc- 
cess, in the plan he was maturing, to be carried into 
effect, when he was old enough to be the master of his 
own actions. 

He would go to Heidelberg, and remain the stipu- 
lated two years, while Claire availed herself of the 
advantages it was Mrs. Courtnay’s intention to afford 
her. But that long probation once ended, Claire should 
be compelled to consent to what he believed would be 
for her own good. 

Immediately on their arrival in Paris, Mrs. Courtnay 
made inquiries for M. Latour, as she desired to inform 
him, without delay, of the existence of the young sis- 
ter she had brought there, as a claimant on his fortune. 

The .reply given to her was, that the ex-banker was 
traveling in the East, and the time of his return to his 
native land was uncertain. So, for the present, noth- 
ing was left for her, but to carry out her own plans for 
her young protegee, which she hastened at once to do. 

Claire seemed keenly anxious to profit by the oppor- 
tunities for improvement her god-mother was willing 
to afford her, and, by her own desire, she was immedi- 
ately placed in a first-class school, where every femi- 
nine accomplishment, was taught. 

Her progress from the first, was pronounced marvel- 
ous by her teachers, and Claire smiled bitterly, as she 
thought : 

“ Who ever had such motives for exertion as I have ? 
I will make myself irresistible : I will not only become 
mistress of a brilliant education, but I will study, 
above all the rest, the art of fascination. The time 
will come in which it will serve me well.” 


24 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


She watched with eager eyes the development of 
her own beautj r , and rejoiced to see that as time 
progressed, she grew into something fairer, more daz- 
zling than her former self ; that as she matured into 
perfect womanhood, few would have recognized in her 
the unformed, though attractive creature, who had 
caught the passing fancy of Walter Thorne. 

But this transformation was the work of years. 
When she emerged from her seclusion, she was eight- 
een, and as brilliant and beautiful a being as the imagi- 
nation can conceive. 

Andrew had gone at once to Heidelberg, and during 
his stay there, his mother resided in the town, occa- 
sionally visiting Claire, and keeping up a constant cor- 
respondence with her. The third year of their stay in 
Europe, Andrew traveled with a tutor, and Mrs. 
Courtnay took up her residence in Paris. 

She dreaded the meeting between the two that must 
inevitably take place when her son rejoined them ; 
although he rarely spoke of Claire, and had used all 
his art to induce his mother to believe that his attach- 
ment for her had been laid aside with other childish 
things. Mrs. Courtnay felt that this bewilderingly 
beautiful creature, with her easy grace of manner, and 
her sprightly wit, was too dangerous a companion to be 
thrown with Andrew with impunity. He would, she 
knew, return to his allegiance to her, and the separa- 
tion between them have been in vain. 

Mrs. Courtnay one day said to Claire, as they sat 
together in her lodgings, in which the young girl had 
been received when she left the boarding-school : 

“ My dear child, you have bloomed into marvelous 
loveliness. You will be sought after by many, and you 


A VOYAGE TO EUROPE. 


25 


may make a brilliant match. I hope you do not still 
cling to that old fancy about being bound to Walter 
Thorne, when he has not considered himself bound to 
you ? ” 

Claire looked up with an expression of pained sur- 
prise, and asked : 

44 Mamma, are you not aware of the sacredness of 
the marriage bond among all true Catholics ? With 
them, bound once is bound forever, unless death gives 
release.” 

44 That is true, dear ; but yours is an exceptional 
case. If ever a woman was freed from her vows, you 
have been by the double treachery of the man to whom 
you gave yourself.” 

Claire quietly replied : 

44 1 do not wish to be freed from them. Why should 
I ? Do you suppose that, after my experience, I would 
ever trust my fate in the power of another man ? No, 
my mission is to break their false hearts, as one of them 
has broken mine.” 

Mrs. Courtnay looked shocked, and earnestly said : 

44 Don’t tell me that with your dangerous power to 
win love, you intend to adopt the role of a coquette ? 
It will be fatal to yourself as to others.” 

Claire glanced at herself in a mirror, and with a 
strange smile replied : 

44 It seems to me that nothing else is left me but to 
amuse myself with the agonies of the lovers I may 
win. Outwardly, I am brilliant enough, but if you 
could look into my dead heart, you would understand 
that now my education is completed, I can have no ob- 
ject in life but to gain love, and cast it from me as 
mine was won and trampled on. My brother will af- 


26 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


ford me the means I shall want, and I have resolved to 
stay with him. Her tones were hard, her eyes glit- 
tered with the fierce glare that sometimes betrayed the 
panther nature that might have lain forever unde- 
veloped but for the fatal experience through which she 
had passed. That had hardened her feelings, deepened 
her resentments, and warped the mind which under 
different circumstances might have been trained only 
to sweet and gracious influences. 

Mrs. Courtnay regarded her with surprise, and with 
a slight tone of pique, said : 

“.So you have matured your plans without even con- 
sulting me. It is well, perhaps, for all concerned, that 
you should remain here, but I scarcely expected you to 
be willing to do so. Andrew has overcome his prefer- 
ence for you, I believe, for he has kept up a rather 
lover-like correspondence with Emma Carleton, since 
we came to Europe. It is my earnest wish to see them 
united, and as you suggest, if he were again thrown 
with you, he might return to his old madness.” 

“ That is the only name for it,” said Claire, with a 
light laugh. “ Like most other hallucinations, it has 
passed away ; but it will be as well to afford it no op- 
portunity to return. Your son is sacred to me, mam- 
ma, and I will never cause him a pang, if I can avoid 
it. I owe you so much — so much that I can never re- 
pay ! The heart that is cold to all the rest of the 
world, opens to you and yours, and I shall ever cherish 
the love I bear to you as the one tender link that binds 
me to my kind.” 

“ So young, and at heart a misanthrope ! Oh, Claire, 
you have marked out for yourself a hard and arid path. 
A few brilliant triumphs, that bring no real satisfaction ; 


A VOYAGE TO EUROPE. 


27 


a few y ears of gayety, that must end in satiety and 
self-contempt, and then what will be left ? Painful 
memories, perhaps embittered by remorse — for such a 
career as you have sketched, is rarely free from that. 
My child, it pains me to the heart to think of what 
may be in store for you.” 

“ Then don’t think of it, mamma. There is nothing 
left to me but the excitements of gayety and admiration. 
I should fade away and perish in the monotony of the 
Grange, if I could be induced to return there. I should 
think only of my anomalous position, and grow wild in 
that solitary glen, over the memories of the past. I 
shall never return to my native land till my husband 
is freed from the ties that bind him to my rival. No 
— she is not my rival, for his heart was mine, though 
he consented to give me up.” 

‘‘Claire, do j^ou love him yet ? ” 

A lightning flash came from her dark eyes. 

“ Love him ? No. Scorn has swallowed up every 
softer feeling for the craven who would not stand by 
the woman he had chosen ; who meanly sold himself 
for a price. But he is my husband, and he shall yet 
be proud to receive me as his wife, and proclaim to the 
world that the tie which bound us together was per- 
fectly legal. The jury that gave him back his freedom 
was made to believe that I was a mere light o’love wil- 
ling to be deceived — to be his on any terms — and they 
shall yet know how much they were mistaken.” 

Mrs. Courtnay gravely said : 

“ I think you are mad to dream of righting yourself. 
A life is in your way that may outlast your own ; and 
were I in your place I should shrink from again plac- 
ing myself in the power of so unprincipled a man as 


28 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Walter Thorne, even if the opportunity should be 
afforded.” 

“ The power will then be in my own hands. The 
unformed, loving child was at his mercy ; the brilliant 
worldly woman, with every fascination at her command, 
will hold him at hers. As to the poor creature, who 
stands in my way, her heart will break before my 
charms have faded, and then — Walter Thorne may 
look to himself.” 

Mrs. Courtnav saw the expression of fierce determi- 
nation on her face, and sighed heavily. What could 
she say to this willful and resolute creature ? — how 
turn her from a purpose that seemed, to her, so forlorn 
of accomplishment? — and even, if successful, must 
bring to herself and another, supreme wretchedness. 
She softly asked : 

“ My dear Claire, do you ever pray to God to give 
you back the tender, childish heart that once was yours ? 
You must know that the course you propose to your- 
self is opposed to every command given by him as our 
rule of action.” 

A faint shadow flitted over the fair face of her com- 
panion, but she coldly replied : 

“I go to confession regularly, and my spiritual 
director imposes penance on me, when I confess to wrong- 
doing. If I were not a true daughter of the church, I 
should not hold my marriage vow so utterly binding 
upon me.” 

At that moment Julia came in beaming with health 
and happiness. She had grown into a slender, grace- 
ful girl of thirteen, with the fair beauty of her mother — 
also inheriting her gentle temper.” 

She held a letter in her hand, bearing the Strasbourg 
post-mark, and joyfully displaying it, exclaimed : 


A VOYAGE TO EUROPE. 


29 


“ Andrew is coming back to us, mamma. He has 
written to me a long letter, telling me all about his 
travels. He has seen so much, he will have a thousand 
things to tell us when he returns. Read it, and see 
for yourself that he will be here in a few more days. 
Dear Claire, I am so glad that you have left that dull 
school, and will be here to welcome him.” 

Mrs. Courtnay glanced over the letter, and said : 

“ He is really coming immediately. He may be here 
to-morrow, for this letter has been long on the way.” 

She glanced uneasily at Claire, who laughed, and 
asked, in a low tone : 

“ Had I not better go back to my school, before 
Andrew appears ? I wish to spare you a moment’s 
uneasiness on his account.” 

J ulia overheard her, and with wildly distended eyes, 
said: 

“ What can you mean, Claire ? My brother will 
expect to see you, and if he does not find you with us, 
lie will be sure to seek you at the school. I thought 
you had come to stay with us always now.” 

“ Did you, pet ? But suppose I have only come on 
a visit, and a farewell one, at that ? I am going to 
live in France, you know. I have always told you 
that, and your mother speaks of returning to Vir- 
ginia.” 

Julia turned to her mother, and incredulously asked : 

“ Do you really think of going back, mamma, before 
I have finished my studies, too ? You were anxious to 
come to Europe, on Andrew’s account, and now we 
are here, I think you might remain on mine, at least 
till I am seventeen.” 

“ By that time you would be so completely Parisian, 


80 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


that you would be unwilling to go back to the old 
home, in the lonely valley in which you were once so 
happy, Julia. My affairs require my presence in Vir- 
ginia. I shall take back with me an accomplished gov- 
erness for you ; and when you are quite grown, I may 
return to visit Claire, for she refuses to go back with 
us.” 

“ Go away and leave Claire ! What will my brother 
say to that ? What shall I do without her ? ” 

With a droll look, Claire said : 

“ Let me foretell what you will all do. You will 
occupy yourself with your studies, and model yourself 
on the pink of propriety, mamma will select as your 
preceptress. Andrew will marry that pretty Emma 
Carleton, who came once to the Grange, and bring her 
back there : and you will all be happier without the 
marplot I should prove if I consented to return with 
you.” 

“ You a marplot, indeed ! How can you speak of 
yourself in such terms ? But what could you do, if 
left here alone ? ” 

“ I shall not be alone, petite. T intend to keep house 
for that brother of whom you have heard; he will 
make his appearance in civilized life again before many 
weeks have passed away ; and I have settled my plans 
quite independently of your mother’s arrangements.” 

“ But, Claire, why can’t you be my governess ? I 
would be the best of students, and give you very little 
trouble. That will be better than staying here with a 
strange man, even if he does happen to be your 
brother.” 

“ I know that you would be the sweetest little pupil 
in the world, but teaching is not my forte. I should 


A VOYAGE TO EUROPE. 31 

not like it, and — in short, it is my choice to stay, and 
your mother thinks it will be best.” 

J ulia turned to her mother, with a reproachful look, 
but Mrs. Courtnay gravely said : 

“ It is quite true, my love. Claire and I have talked 
it over, and I cannot insist on removing her when she 
has a protector here who is anxious to assert his claims 
upon her. M. Latour has written to me from Constan- 
tinople, stating that he is on his way home, and if his 
sister chooses to accept an asylum with him, he shall 
be only too happy to have her as his companion.” 

Claire looked surprised. She quickly asked : 

“ Why did you not tell me this before, mamma ? I 
was trusting to my fascinations alone to win Armand 
to offer me his protection.” 

“ I thought it right to inform M. Latour of your ex- 
istence, and I wrote to him soon after we arrived in 
France. My letter, it seems, never reached his hands 
till he came back from the wild regions in which he 
has so long wandered. He ordered his letters to be 
kept for him by a firm in Constantinople, and he replied 
to me as soon as he received mine. It is nearly three 
years since it was written, and I had given up all hope 
of hearing from him ; but his answer was sent to me 
this morning from the banking house of Latour & Co.” 

“ Will you permit me to read it ? ” asked Claire. 
“ I should like to see something tangible from this will 
o’ the wisp brother of mine, for I have scarcely yet 
taught myself to regard him as anything more than a 
myth.” 

“ Of course you can read it. It was my purpose to 
show it to you, when I commenced the conversation 
Julia’s entrance interrupted.” 


32 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Mrs. Court-nay took from her pocket an envelope,, 
hearing a large seal with a crest upon it, and Claire 
eagerly drew from it a sheet of paper, on which was 

written the following lines : 

♦ 

“ Constantinople, July 10th, 18— 

“Mrs. Courtnay — Madam : — I cannot express to 
you the surprise with which I read the contents of 
your long delayed missive. Until then, I was pro- 
foundly ignorant of my father’s second marriage, and 
of the existence of my half sister. 

“ You tell me that M. Lapierre allied himself with a 
lady of good family, but no fortune; the first I was 
glad to know ; the latter statement does not signify, as 
money is of little importance to me, and I am anxious 
to acquit myself of a debt to my father, which has 
already stood too long uncanceled. 

“ I have acquired a large fortune, and I have no 
family of my own to bestow it on ; if my young sister 
is as spirituelle and attractive as you assure me she is, 
I shall be most happy to receive her, and place her in 
the position that is due to one so nearly related to me. 

“ The liberal intentions toward her, which you have 
expressed, have by this time been carried into effect, 
and I have no doubt that I shall find Claire accom- 
plished and well-bred as I could desire. Express to 
her my fraternal sentiments, and say to her, that I 
should also have written to her, had time sufficed ; but 
I have much on my hands, and I must defer any com- 
munication with her till we meet. 

“ There is something to explain, which cannot well 
be touched on, in a letter, and I hope that I shall find 
Claire prepared to listen candidly, to the statements I 


A VOYAGE TO EUROPE. 


33 


have to make ; also to disabuse her mind of any of the 
unfavorable impressions she may have received of me. 

“ My poor father was unjust to me ; he severed him- 
self from me ; refused me the gratification of assisting 
him in his poverty, though I won the means of doing 
so, through my own perseverance. If Claire thinks 
hardly of me for this, tell her to reserve her judgment 
till she has heard my defence ; she bears the name of 
my mother, and for that alone I am prepared to 
welcome her to my heart. 

“ I am aware that she has a claim on me for money, 
which caused heart-burning between my father and 
myself, but the retention of that money was an act of 
justice to myself. I have increased the sum, and held 
it sacredly as a fund, for my father to draw on, if his 
resentment towards me ever softened sufficiently to 
permit him to do so. It never did, and now it shall go 
to my sister as her dower, with such an addition to it 
as my own fortune will enable me to make. She will 
owe me no thanks for this, for it is simply an act of 
tardy justice on my part. 

“ I shall not return to Paris for several weeks yet, 
but inclosed is a letter of credit for the use of Claire, 
and she can draw for any amount she pleases on 
Messrs. Latour & C.o. 

“ With the highest sentiments of respect and esteem, 
I am, Madam, your obliged and obedient servant. 

“Armand Latour.” 

Claire read these agreeable lines with brightening 
eyes and flushing cheeks. When she had finished she 
exclaimed : 

“ What a liberal man my brother is ; my father 

2 


34 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


must have misunderstood, and misjudged him, for the 
writer of this letter must be noble, and unselfish. 
Would you not say so, mamma? ” 

“ I do not wish to sit up in judgment either on your 
father or your brother, Claire. The cause of their 
estrangement M. Latour will doubtless explain when 
you meet, and I hope it will prove perfectly satisfac- 
tory. In the meantime, you can make such use of his 
liberality as you choose, and anticipate the fair future 
he seems anxious to prepare for you. If you do not 
mar your own destiny, I think it may yet be a happy 
one.” 

Claire laughed gaily. 

“ Armand can give me all that I most eagerly desire ; 
position, fortune, consideration. With these, I can 
extract some enjoyment from life, in spite of what has 
happened to infuse bitterness into my lot. I shall 
draw on his partner at once, and please myself by giv- 
ing Julia the watch set with brilliants she is so anxious 
to have. What can I give you , mamma, for all the 
kindness you have lavished on me ? I do not offer to 
repay you, for that would be impossible, but I should 
like to find something to suit your taste, to offer as a 
souvenir of the naughty child, with whom you have 
shown such patience.” 

Mrs. Courtnay kissed her, and smilingly replied : 

“ It is like you, Claire, to think of giving in the first 
moment of your newly-acquired wealth. I will not 
deny you the gratification of bestowing the watch on 
Julia, for I can see how much she is enchanted with 
the prospect of getting it ; but as to myself, your love 
is all I ask in return for what I have done for you.” 

Claire returned her caress, and said : 


A VOYAGE TO EUROPE. 


35 


“ You must always have that, at any rate, mamma ; 
but it is like you, too, to refuse any tangible return 
for the benefits you confer. I shall find a way to 
prove to you that I only value the means placed at my 
disposal so far as I can use them for those I love.” 

“ Oh, Claire,” said Julia, “it is charming to know 
that your brother is so rich and so liberal ; but I wish, 
all the same, that there was no such person. Then 
we should have you all to ourselves — and I had rather 
not have the watch and keep you.” 

“ I have no doubt of that, pet, but as you can’t have 
me, you must take my present, as the best substitute I 
can find. To tell you the truth, I think you will be a 
gainer by the exchange.” 

“ I shan’t believe that. You are my own darling 
Claire, and you are the prettiest creature I ever saw. 
I wonder what my brother will say when he sees how 
much you have improved? He has never seen you 
since he went to Heidelberg.” 

“'Oh, Andrew will scarcely give me a thought. He 
is in love with his cousin Emma, and he means to mar- 
r} r her and settle down in his native valley as soon as 
he returns home. I am only his sister, you know.” 

Julia shook her small head doubtingly, and her 
mother threw a troubled glance toward Claire. She 
observed it, and drawing near to Mrs. Courtnay, spoke, 
in a subdued tone : 

“ Perhaps it will be best for me to go back to my 
seclusion till the time for your departure draws near. 
I can plainly see that you are uneasy at the prospect 
of a meeting between Andrew and myself.” 

Her friend reflected a few moments, and then re- 
plied in the same tone : 


36 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ No, my dear ; I cannot banish you during the few 
weeks that remain to us in this country. After your 
promise to do nothing to attract my son, I think I can 
trust you together. Julia would be inconsolable if she 
were separated from you.” 

“ You may trust me, mamma. Andrew can never 
be more to me than the friend of my childhood ; and I 
should be base to attempt to rekindle in his heart the 
preference he has suppressed.” 

So it was settled that Claire should remain till her 
brother came to claim her ; and, as soon as Mrs. Court- 
nay saw her safe under his protection she intended to 
commence her preparations for departure. 

Enchanted to be able to give in her turn, Claire 
drew on the bankers for a large sum, and bought an 
exquisite watch for Julia. She also purchased for 
Mrs. Courtnay a rare and elegantly illustrated work in 
several volumes, which she remembered hearing her 
say she would like to buy if she could afford it. A 
limited number of copies had been printed, but, re- 
gardless of cost, Claire spent nearly the whole of her 
money to obtain it. 

When this magnificent present was sent home, she 
purposely absented herself, for she feared that her 
benefactress would reproach her for the extravagance 
of which she had been guilty. She and Julia went 
out for a long walk, and returned only in time for sup- 
per. 

The books were lying open upon the table, and Mrs. 
Courtnay was examining them with evident pleasure. 
She looked up, as Claire came in, and said : 

“ You have afforded me an agreeable surprise, my 
dear, and I will not refuse your gift, though if I had 


A VOYAGE TO EUROPE. 


37 


known that you designed spending for me so large a 
sum as these cost, I should have asked for something 
of less value.” 

“ Oh, thank you, for accepting them so graciously, 
mamma. From me, nothing can be too costly to offer 
you.” 

“ Provided you could afford it, Claire,” replied Mrs. 
Courtnay, with a smile. “ I am afraid that you have 
impoverished yourself to give Julia and myself what 
we could very well have done without. How much 
have you left of the money you drew ? ” 

“ Fifty francs. But that is of no consequence — my 
letter of credit is unlimited.” 

“ True ; but you must not draw for money again 
very soon, after using so large a sum. Did you pur- 
chase anything for yourself ? ” 

“ Thanks to your kindness, I needed nothing,” re- 
plied Claire, with a laugh. “ Let us look over these 
exquisite illustrations together, and say nothing more 
of their cost.” 

“No, my child ; we will say nothing more about 
that. I only wish to impress on you that you must 
not abuse the generosity of your brother. You have a 
taste for extravagance which has hitherto been re- 
pressed, and in the future you must be careful to put 
a reasonable limit to your expenditure.” 

“ The only use I can see for money is to spend it,” 
said Claire, perversely. “ Armand is rich enough to 
let me have my swing, I suppose ; if he complains, I 
will ask for an allowance, and keep within its limits.” 

“ It may be as well to do so,” was the reply, and the 
subject was dismissed. In truth, this young creature 
needed the admonition, for she had a magnificent taste, 


38 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


a keen appreciation of the elegant and beautiful, and 
she was enchanted with the splendid vista that opened 
before her vivid imagination. Aladdin’s wonderful 
lamp could scarcely have realized the dreams of splen- 
dor in which she revelled. If happiness was denied 
her, luxury, adoration and excitement should at least 
be hers, and the insignificant sum of which her bene- 
factress seemed to think so much, Claire regarded as 
scarcely worth consideration. 

She knew that she needed many things herself, but 
in the pleasure df giving she had set her own wants 
aside, intending to draw in a few more days, a sufficient 
sum to supply them. But Mrs. Courtnay rendered this 
unnecessary. Without Claire’s knowledge, she went 
out the next day and ordered a complete outfit for a 
young lady just entering society, and her gift to her 
young protegee nearly balanced the cost of the books. 

Claire protested against this when she became aware 
of it, and insisted that she would herself pay the bills, 
but this Mrs. Courtnay would not permit, and after a 
long conversation Claire submitted to the will of her 
friend, and allowed her to have her own way. 

Andrew did not arrive quite so soon as was expected. 
The week was drawing to a close when he came alone, 
having parted with his tutor at Strasbourg. 

Claire and J ulia had gone out, and Mrs. Courtnay 
was glad to have him to herself for a little while. An- 
drew was now twenty-two years of age, but he looked 
at least five years older. He had grown tall and athle- 
tic, without losing the graceful litheness of figure suit- 
ed to one of his years. His dark complexion had 
cleared, and on the bronzed cheeks the healthy glow 
of youth was seen. His wild-looking eyes had aequir- 


A VOYAGE TO EUROPE. 


89 


ed a gentler expression, and his mother trusted that his 
whole nature was softened and subdued by the disci- 
pline of the few last years. He was more tender and 
considerate toward herself, and she indulged the bright- 
est hope of his future career. 

After giving some details of his journey, he impa- 
tiently asked : 

“ Where is Julia ? I shall be glad to see the little 
darling again, for it is a year since we parted.” 

“ She has gone out with Claire, but they will soon 
be back now.” 

“ Claire, here, too ? I was not aware that you had 
withdrawn her from her school.” 

He spoke so coolly that Mrs. Courtnay’s heart was 
lightened of a heavy load of apprehension. She quietly 
said : 

“ She is staying with me a little while, until her 
brother claims her. M. Latour is on his way from the 
East, and he has written to me that he will gladly take 
charge of his sister and provide for her. Claire does 
not wish to return to Virginia, and I also think it best 
for her to accept the protection of her brother.” 

Andrew listened to this statement with apparent in- 
difference. 

“ It is the best thing she can do, I suppose, as it 
would not be pleasant for her to go back where her 
early history is known. I once believed that this 
strange brother of hers was not a suitable person to 
trust her with, but I have heard that he is not a bad 
fellow. M. Lapierre was scarcely justified in treating 
him as he did. But we have nothing to do with that.” 

“ I am glad to hear you speak so reasonably, my dear 
boy. I feared that you might still oppose me in this. 


40 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


I think, for Claire’s happiness, it will be best to leave 
her in France. Old memories would revive if she re- 
turned to the scenes of her early life, and I wish her to 
bury in oblivion all connected with her wretched 
past.” 

“ Yes, it will be best,” he vaguely replied. “ That 
was a terrible mistake ; but for that ” — he paused ab- 
ruptly, and then went on — 44 Does Claire still cling to 
the absurd notion that she is bound by the tie that has 
proved but a rope of sand to the villain who deserted 
her ? ” 

His mother gravely replied : 

44 She does. We spoke of it but a few days ago, and 
she distinctly said that, to no other man on earth would 
she yield the duty of a wife.” 

44 Does she pretend to love the ingrate still ? ” 

44 No ; she spoke of him scornfully enough, but I 
am inclined to believe that a lingering feeling of affec- 
tion prompts her to cling to the belief that a day will 
come in which she will be acknowledged before the 
world as his wife.” 

44 Sentimental folly ! wretched want of self-apprecia- 
tion to suppose that he can elevate her muttered An- 
drew, 44 but women will be fools.” 

44 What are you saying, my son ?” 

44 Oh, nothing that you would care to hear. But 
now that we are on this subject, let me say that the 
interest I take in Claire is only that of a brother. I 
shall go back to Virginia with my mind made up to 
take the wife that you have selected for me. Emma is 
a lovely and amiable girl, and she writes the most 
charming letters. I have regained my sober senses, 
and I know that she will suit me infinitely better than 


A VOYAGE TO EUROPE. 


41 


Claire ever could, even if she were within my reach. 
For months I raged over my disappointment, but the 
fire died down to dead ashes at last — and you know 
how difficult it is to relume an extinguished flame.” 

44 My dear boy, you give me new life,” exclaimed 
Mrs. Courtnay. 44 I have dreaded a meeting between 
you and Claire more than I care to tell you. I know 
there is no hope for you with her, and I am most hap- 
py to hear you say that your heart is turned to Emma. 
She will be a true helpmate to you ; a tender and affec- 
tionate companion.” 

“Yes, yes, I understand all that,” he impatiently 
said. 44 I intend to be reasonable and give you the 
daughter-in-law you covet, but don’t bore me with her 
praises. I know that Emma has all the domestic vir- 
tues, and I shall try and content myself with them, so 
let that suffice, mother.” 

Mrs. Courtnay was accustomed to his brusque man- 
ner, so she faintly laughed, and said : 

“ 4 All is well that ends well,’ Andrew. When I 
clasp Emma to my heart as your wife, I shall be the 
happiest and proudest of mothers.” 

44 And I, of course, the most blessed of husbands, 
and most dutiful of sons,” he cynically replied. 44 Well, 
the affair is settled, for I have asked Emma to marry 
me, and she has consented.” 

44 That is the best news I have heard for a long time. 
We will have the wedding over as soon as possible 
after our return home.” 

44 Safe find, safe bind,” he laughingly said ; 44 but 
here come the girls. I will hide behind this curtain, 
and take a peep at them before you let them know that 
I am here.” 


42 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Before his mother could reply, he sheltered himself 
in the recess of a window, and the next moment Claire 
came in, followed by Julia. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE ABDUCTION. 

C LAIRE was in her walking-costume : a gray dress 
of soft, shining material, relieved at the throat by 
a scarf of brilliant colors. A coquettish little bonnet 
set on her magnificent suit of hair, of a tawny bronze, 
through which flickered gleams of gold. Her com- 
plexion was neither brown nor fair, but all its tints 
harmonized with that wonderful chevelure, and her 
dark eyes had a depth and lustre unknown to them in 
her earlier days. 

Her rounded figure was supple and graceful as that 
of a young antelope, and it seemed impossible that she 
could ever be guilty of an awkward movement. 

She glanced rapidly around the room, unclosed her 
ruby lips to speak, when Julia, who had closely fol- 
lowed her, exclaimed : 

“ Where is my brother ? Madelon told us he had 
arrived, but I do not see him here. Oh, mamma, I 
see how glad you are looking, and I am sure you have 
hidden him away. Yes, there are his feet below that 
curtain. I see them plainly.” 

She dashed at the curtain, drew it aside, and Andrew 
clasped her in his outstretched arms. 

“ What a keen little detective you are,” he laugh- 


THE ABDUCTION. 


43 


ingly said, as he issued from his retreat. “ I meant to 
rush out on you, and take you by surprise. How you 
have grown, my pet, and Claire is positively dazzling. 
I declare I should never have known her again.” 

He came forward holding out his hand, which was 
taken with an air of frank cordiality, and Claire held 
up her cheek to be saluted as had been her childish 
habit after a separation. 

Andrew approached his lips to its velvety surface, 
scarcely touching it, but even that contact made him 
shiver as if with sudden pain. She gaily said : 

“ I can return your compliment, Andrew, for you 
too have wonderfully improved. You have grown into 
quite a stately man, and you look like that fine picture 
of your father which hangs in your mother’s room at 
the Grange.” 

“ Thank you, for that is royally handsome ; when I 
was a little fellow I used to wonder if the heathen gods 
were grander-looking than that dark man, with his 
proud face and regal bearing. Do you really think I 
so strongly resemble him, Claire ? ” 

There was an inflexion of eagerness in his tone 
which Mrs. Courtnay did not like, and she hastened to 
say : 

“ ‘ Handsome is as handsome does,’ you know, 
Andrew. Do not show too much anxiety about your 
outward appearance, but let me tell what a good and 
dutiful son you are ; how willing you have shown 
yourself to meet my views for 3'0U.” 

Andrew flushed slightly, and coldly said : 

“ As you please, mother ; but do not give me too 
much credit for obedience to your wishes. What I 
have settled on, I thought best for my own happiness.” 


44 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Of course : no one will doubt that, I am sure. 
You must congratulate him, Claire, on the new pros- 
pects that are opening before him. We shall have a 
wedding soon after our return to Virginia, and the 
bride will be my favorite, Emma Carleton.” 

“That is charming news indeed,” cried Claire, with 
beaming face. 

But Julia did not seem so well pleased with the 
announcement. She was still clinging to her brother’s 
breast, fondly caressing him, and she placed her mouth 
close to his ear, and whispered : 

“ Brother, I hoped you loved Claire, and would 
persuade her to go back with us. She won’t go unless 
you do.” 

His face flushed deeply, but he replied in the same 
tone : 

“ Nonsense, child ; she can’t marry me, you know, 
so she had better stay behind.” 

“No, I don’t know anything of the kind,” pouted 
Julia. “Cousin Emma isn’t half as sweet and pretty 
as Claire.” 

“What is that you are saying, Julia?” asked her 
mother, in a tone that was sharp for her to use. “ You 
had better go and take off your things now. Supper 
will be served directly, and when that is over, we can 
have a long and pleasant evening together.” 

“ Come, pet, let us run off and make ourselves pre- 
sentable in time for supper. I am ready for it, for we 
have had a long walk this afternoon.” 

The two left the room together, and Andrew sat 
down looking moodily into vacancy. His mother 
asked : 

“ What has Julia said to bring that cloud upon your 
brow? ” 


THE ABDUCTION. 


45 


“ Oil, nothing that I did not know and feel before. 
She seems very fond of Claire, and most anxious to 
take her back home with us. It annoys me to see how 
impossible that is ; on Julia’s account though, remem- 
ber, mother, Claire can henceforth be nothing to me.” 

“ Of course, you fully understand that, Andrew. 
She would be nothing more than a sister to you, even 
if she could ; and as you have plighted your troth to 
Emma, you surely cannot regret that.” 

“ No — I will not regret it. Claire is as beautiful as 
a dream, but as willful and tantalizing as a demon. She 
will lead many a poor wretch a dance that will end, 
God knows how. I may be dazzled and bewildered by 
her, but if we could be tied together, we should make 
life hateful to each other. You see that I have fully 
learned to understand her nature and my own, mother. 
For a few moments the old glamour came back, but I 
am sane again. The efforts of three years to tear her 
image from my heart have not been vain, I assure you, 
so don’t look so much alarmed.” 

Mrs. Courtnay uneasily said: 

u I feared such a result, and if I could have pre- 
vented a meeting between you, I would have done so. 
You are a man now, Andrew, and should possess the 
self-control of one. You are bound in honor to Emma, 
and you must resolutely close your heart to all fascina- 
tions save hers.” 

“ I understand all about that,” was the impatient 
reply. “ My senses were only bewildered a few mo- 
ments by that peerless creature. If it were anything 
more than that, I should scarcely have acknowledged 
the effect she produced upon me. I am safe, mother, 
for I am not going to be fool enough to open my 


46 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


heart to a syren that would ever elude me as this one 
would. Here comes supper, and I am very glad of it, 
for I am confoundedly hungry.” 

Madelon, a neat French maid, came in with the sup- 
per-tray, on which was found more substantial viands 
than were usually partaken of at that meal ; for she 
remembered that the young gentleman had just arrived 
from a long journey, and she provided accordingly. 

Claire and Julia made their appearance, and the 
four passed a very pleasant evening together. Mrs. 
Courtnay observed that the manner of her protegee 
to Andrew was friendly, but with a decided dash of 
coldness in it, which plainly said, that beyond frater- 
nal friendship he was not to pass with her. She laid 
aside the many fascinating little ways which ordinarily 
made her so enchanting to those with whom she was 
thrown, and assumed a dignity of bearing which was 
something entirely new to her. 

Andrew tacitly accepted this new role, and treated 
her with quiet respect, never suffering any indication 
of his real feelings to appear on the surface. He had 
flattered himself that he had put her from his heart, 
and to make a relapse impossible, he had placed a bar- 
rier between them which he believed he would consider 
impassable. But to his dismay he found, even on this 
first evening of renewed intercourse, that the slightest 
glance of encouragement from Claire would bring him 
to her feet again, reckless of all other ties and obliga- 
tions. 

It was a humiliating discovery, and his pride rose up 
in arms to defend his honor, and keep him true to the 
faith he had pledged to one he knew to be tenderly 
attached to him. 


THE ABDUCTION. 


47 


As the daj^ passed on, the struggle became more dif- 
ficult, for the very reserve Claire manifested towards 
him served only to add new fuel to the fire that 
sprang with devouring force from the dead ashes into 
which he believed it had been consumed. 

Yet Andrew was so completely on his guard that 
neither his mother nor the object of his wild passion 
suspected what was passing in his tortured heart. He 
was soon ready to cast his obligations to the winds, to 
dare all to make this adorable creature his own. 

He would force her to his arms ; compel a return to 
his love ; nor would he despair of success in what was 
so vital to himself. Claire no longer loved Thorne ; 
and the fantastic idea of yet receiving justice from him 
must be set aside at all risks. She should be his own ; 
that unworthy ingrate should never reclaim her, never. 

Such were the thoughts that seethed perpetually 
within him ; yet Andrew did such violence to his own 
nature that he effectually concealed every indication of 
them, even from the watchful eyes of his mother, and 
she congratulated herself on the perfect indifference 
both parties seemed to manifest toward each other. 

Claire was very agreeabiy occupied in superintend- 
ing the making up of the new and elegant wardrobe 
in which she was to make her debut in the society she 
panted to enter, and she paid no more attention to 
Andrew than was necessary to keep him in a good 
humor. She did not' suspect the state of his feelings. 

The time for M. Latour’s return to Paris was draw- 
ing near, and the preparations for the departure of the 
Courtnay family had commenced. Toward the end of 
July, the party was seated at the luncheon table dis- 
cussing their plans, when Andrew turned to Claire 
and said : 


48 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ You have never been with me to Versailles, as you 
promised when I first came. I wish to visit the palace 
and stand on the balcony on which the heroic Marie 
Antoinette appeared before that infuriated mob of 
demons, holding her child in her arms. Will you 
come this afternoon, Claire ? I wish you to be my 
companion when I visit that spot.” 

“ I scarcely know how I can go for mamma and 
Julia have an engagement, and they expect me to go 
with them.” 

“ I dare say they will excuse you,” he lightly replied, 
“ and as it is the first time I have asked you to go out 
with me, I think you might consent without hesitation. 
I hope you are not afraid to trust yourself in my 
care ? ” 

“ Afraid ! no indeed — why should I be ? I have 
been to Versailles several times, but I shall be glad to 
make another pilgrimage to the spot around which so 
many historical associations cluster, if your mother 
will excuse me from going with her.” 

“ It is settled, then, for I am sure she will offer no 
objections. What do you say, madame mere ? Will 
not Julia suffice to you this afternoon, while, for once, 
and perhaps for the last time, I monopolize Claire ? ” 

“ If it is all the same to you, Andrew, I had rather 
you would defer your visit to another day. I wish 
particularly to take Claire with me this afternoon.” 

She saw the storm that was gathering on his dark 
brow, and deprecatingly added : 

“ It can make little difference to you, I suppose. If 
it does, however, I will let both her and Julia accom- 
pany you, as it is not customary here for young ladies 
to drive out alone with gentlemen.” 


THE ABDUCTION. 


49 


<c That is nonsense, mother, for brothers escort their 
sisters in all countries, and Claire is such to me. I 
will be frank with you. I do not wish Julia to go, 
because I desire to have a long talk with Claire before 
her brother comes, and this will be the most agreeable 
opportunity.” 

Mrs. Courtnay still demurred a little, but Andrew 
carried his point ; and so completely had he blinded 
both ladies, that neither of them suspected the real 
object he had in view. It was decided that Claire 
should accompany him to Versailles, and soon after 
his mother set out on her visit with Julia, Andrew 
drove to the door in a handsome open carriage, with a 
small boy in livery behind. Claire was quite ready, 
and she took her place by his side with smiling grace, 
happy in the anticipation of an agreeable drive with a 
pleasant companion. 

The desperate venture which had been gradually 
maturing in young Courtnay’s mind through the last 
few weeks had been carefully prepared for, and he 
believed that once safely out of the city with his fair 
companion, he could not fail to bring it to a successful 
termination in spite of such opposition as Claire might 
offer. 

When she came to understand the depth and inten- 
sity of his passion for her, she would— she must forgive 
him. The love that mastered his whole being must 
not only win pardon for this outrage, but it must ap- 
peal to her tender woman’s heart to return it. 

Such was Andrew’s insane reasoning. For the 
present he had but one object in view : to gain the 
absolute mastery of Claire’s fate, and force her to re- 
main beside him, at any cost to himself or to her. 

3 


50 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Courtnay was like a man in delirium ; lie had lost 
his mental balance, and he plunged forward in the 
path he had elected to take, regardless of consequences. 

The conversation of the pair was gay and careless 
enough till they had passed the barriers of the city and 
driven several miles into the country. The horse An- 
drew drove was a magnificent English bay, that could 
easily make his twelve miles in the hour, and the ex- 
hilarating motion brought a bright color to the spark- 
ling face of Claire and new animation to her spirits. 
She scarcely noticed whither they were going, till 
Courtnay suddenly turned into a cross-road leading to 
a thick wood-land. 

As the carriage swept rapidly onward, Claire, in 
some perturbation, asked : 

“ Have you not mistaken the road, Andrew ? I 
thought you were too well posted to leave the public 
thoroughfare ? ” 

And with a sudden feeling of apprehension Claire 
glanced at the dark face that was looking down upon 
her. She saw that it was radiant with exultation, pas- 
sion, and power, and she trembled in spite of her 
efforts to be calm. 

In fervent tones, he replied : 

“ It means that I adore you — that I cannot live 
without you, and I will dare every thing to make you 
mine. You are slower of comprehension than I 
thought, Claire, if you cannot divine my intentions. 
All is prepared for our union, and the tie that will 
bind you to the man who lives only for you will surely 
be considered as more sacred than the one you persist 
in regarding as anything more than the nullity it is.” 

With defiant haughtiness, she asked: 


THE ABDUCTION. 


51 


“ Do you imagine for a moment that I will submit to 
be forcibly united to any man, or consent to live with 
him on any terms after the perpetration of such an out- 
rage ? No ; you mistake me much, if you suppose 
such a thing possible. I command you to turn the 
horse’s head in the direction of Paris, and take me 
back to your mother. 

“ The affection I feel for you will be turned to loath- 
ing if I am forcibly bound to you, nor shall any earthly 
power induce me to remain with you. I would sever 
myself from you as widely as earth and sea can sunder 
us — refuse to hold any communication with you 
throughout all my future life.” 

“You think so now, Claire, but I will change all 
that. You shall not be able to resist my efforts to win 
you over, and as to leaving me you shall not have the 
opportunity to escape. At first, it may be a bondage 
of hate, but time and effort will turn it into submis- 
sion, and affection for the master of your destiny.” 

His tone was so determined, his manner so resolute, 
that courageous as Claire was, she began to grow 
alarmed. She asked herself if it could be possible that 
Andrew would perpetrate so great an outrage against 
her as to tear her forcibly from her friends, and immure 
her in some lonely spot till she purchased release by 
bending to his will ? She faintly inquired : 

“How will you accomplish that? You cannot 
secrete me from the knowledge of those who are in- 
terested in me. You will not absent yourself from 
your mother, and sister ? ” 

“ Can I not ? Ha ! ha ! I will do anything for the 
sake of securing you. I have made my arrangements. 
Relays of horses are provided, and as soon as we are 


52 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


married, I shall set out with you for Switzerland. Hid- 
den there in some secluded mountain hamlet, I will 
remain, till, like Petruchio, I have tamed my fair one, 
and brought her to know that I am her true lord and 
master. Our honeymoon may not be as sweet as that 
you once enjoyed with a traitor, but it will be followed 
by the sober certainty ‘ of waking bliss,’ which is bet- 
ter than your first experience of wedded happiness.” 

Claire shivered ; she felt the conviction that the 
man beside her was suffering from temporary madness, 
and how to escape from him was her only thought. 
She leaned back on the seat, and tried to recover com- 
plete control of herself ; for through her own coolness 
and self-possession, she knew her only road to safety 
lay. She had exhausted all the arguments at her com- 
mand without any result, so she remained passive, and 
no more was said till a sudden turn in the road brought 
in view a small ivy-covered cottage standing amid a 
clump of forest trees. 

It appeared to be a lodge belonging to a chateau 
which loomed in the distance, gray, gloomy, and half 
ruinous. The place seemed an utter solitude ; nothing 
was heard save the murmur of the evening breeze 
through the trees, or the cry of some bird among them ; 
no living form was seen upon the landscape, but the 
door of the cottage was open, and a thin spire of smoke 
curled up from its chimney. 

Andrew dashed up to the door, threw the reins to 
the lad, who had not been able to understand a word 
of the conversation carried on so near him, and offered 
his hands to Claire to assist her to alight. As it would 
have been useless to refuse to do so, she descended 
from the vehicle, and submitted to be led toward the 
house. 


THE ABDUCTION. 


53 


A woman in sabots, and a high cap stiffly starched, 
arose from a wheel at which she was spinning flax, and 
made a low courtesy. She made signs toward an inner 
chamber, and Claire soon discovered that she was a 
deaf mute. Courtnay seemed to understand the 
motions of her fingers, for he nodded, and said : 

“ It is all right ; come, Claire, this is our humble 
temple in which to celebrate our nuptials, but we can 
have high mass, and all the imposing ceremonial of the 
church at a more fitting opportunity. I hope by this 
time that you have seen the folly of opposing me, and 
will act with proper decorum before the clergyman. 
Let us go in ; we shall find him awaiting us.” 

“ He is very accommodating, but you must excuse 
me from going to seek him. I have no use for his ser- 
vices, and I am sure I never wish to look upon the face 
of so unprincipled a wretch as that man must be who 
dares to profane his sacred calling in such a way as 
this. It will be useless to attempt, to carry on this farce, 
Andrew, for I shall refuse to make the responses, and 
the marriage will be of no account unless I do.” 

“ We shall see about that,” he replied, through his 
half-closed teeth. “ If you refuse to go to him, he 
can come to you. It does not signify where the 
words are spoken that will give me the right to con- 
trol you.” 

With a defiant toss of her haughty head, Claire sat 
down upon a wooden bench near the door, and began 
to make signs to the woman herself : but she shook her 
head, and averted her eyes. With a laugh, Andrew 
said : 

“ It’s of no use, she won’t aid you in any way, for 
my gold has already bought her up. You need not 


54 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


attempt to run away, for a man is on guard near the 
door by this time, and you would at once be caught, 
and brought back.” 

Andrew turned from her, rapped on the door of 
communication, and called out in a loud tone : 

“ Come forth, reverend sir, and perform your duty 
quickly. We have no time to lose.” 

There was a slight bustle, the door opened, and a 
small, wiry-looking man, with bleared eyes, and a red 
nose, appeared. He wore the scholar’s gown as typical 
of his calling, but nothing else about him indicated the 
profession to which he belonged. He was evidently a 
wolf in sheep’s clothing, and but for Andrew’s deter- 
mination to make her lawfully his own, Claire would 
have believed that he had picked up some drunken 
brawler to play the part of priest in the approaching 
ceremony. That this one was a disgrace to the order 
to which he belonged she had no difficulty in seeing, 
but 44 once a priest, always a priest,” and the right to 
exercise his calling could not be taken from him. 

He carried a prayer book in his hand, which was 
opened at the marriage service, and he came forward 
with a shambling gait, saying in a rather tremulous 
voice ; 

44 1 am quite ready, Mr. Courtnay. Good evening, 
Miss; I hope that you have got over your scruples 
about that first marriage, and are as ready to take my 
young friend here, as he is anxious to secure you. 
Now that I see you, I don’t wonder at his infatuation ; 
I’ve seen many beauties in my day, but you outshine 
them all.” 

The vulgar familiarity of this address heightened 
the disgust of Claire, and with haughty scorn she 
replied : 


THE ABDUCTION. 


55 


“ I have been brought hither against my will, and if 
you attempt to carry out the infamous purpose you 
have been bribed to accomplish, it will be at your 
own deadly peril. You must be aware that such a pro- 
ceeding as this is illegal, and that the fetters you 
would place upon me are as easily broken as a rope of 
sand. If you really are a clergyman, you must know 
that the ceremony of marriage performed by you 
between that madman and myself cannot stand. I v 
protest against it, and I shall refuse to utter the 
responses.” 

He insolently replied : 

“It is useless to work yourself into a passion, 
Mademoiselle. It cannot serve you. You do not know 
my name ; you will never see me again, so I shall run 
no risk. I came hither to unite you to my young 
friend here, and I shall do it, in spite of any opposi- 
tion you may offer. I shall really be doing you good 
service to give you to a protector who is rich and madly 
in love with you.” 

“ Andrew, will you really go on with this infamy ? ” 
asked Claire, despairingly. “ Stop, I implore you, 
before it is too late.” 

Courtnay made no other reply than to go to the door 
to ascertain if the husband of the peasant woman was 
at the post assigned him. He beckoned to him to 
approach, and after exchanging a few words with him, 
turned to Claire and quietly said : 

“ All is ready. Come, Claire, you cannot escape me 
now, and you will find it best to accept your destiny 
as gracefully as possible.” 

He would have taken her hand, but she haughtily 
repulsed him, and looking steadily at him, said : 


56 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


‘‘Andrew, if you persist in this wickedness, I shall 
hill you. Do you hear me ? I will take your life 
sooner than become the slave of your will.” 

“It is I who will become your slave, my angel. 
Death at your hands will be sweeter than life without 
you. Come, my love ; time is passing, and we must 
be far from here before nightfall.” 

He threw his arm around her and forcibly lifted her 
to her feet. She struggled to escape from him, and 
shrieked aloud in the hope that some one might chance 
to hear her who was not in league with her mad lover. 

Courtnay held her to his side inexorably, and ex- 
hausted by her efforts to free herself, Claire began to 
grow faint and sick. 

“ Now is the time,” said the clergyman. “ She 
cannot offer any further resistance, and Nannette can 
bend down her head at the proper time. I’ll give her 
a sign, and she knows what she has to do.” 

“ Cut the ceremony as short as possible ; there is no 
need of all the rigmarole that is in the book,” said 
Andrew, irreverently. “ Have it over before she gains 
breath to scream again. I shall know how to reconcile 
her when it is all over.” 

The man nodded, and without further preamble 
struck into the heart of the service, — “ I, Andrew, 
take thee, Claire, to be my wedded wife, to have and 
to hold from this day forward.” He paused there, and 
Courtnay replied in a sonorous voice — “ I will.” 

He then attempted to address the same form to the 
unwilling bride, but she struck the book from his hand, 
and by a violent wrench tore herself from the grasp 
that held her and fled toward the door. It was 
darkened at the same moment by the form of a gentle- 
man into whose arms she almost rushed. 


THE ABDUCTION. 


57 


The intruder was a middle-aged, gray-haired man, 
for whom Antoine, the peasant on guard, had made 
way with evident signs of affright and amazement 
upon his features. He was a slender, dark-eyed man, 
with a thoughtful, expressive face, and the air and 
dress of a gentleman. He regarded the scene before 
him with evident astonishment, and in a voice that 
sounded strangely familiar to Claire, said : 

“ I have intruded on a wedding party, I believe, but 
from all the indications it would seem a lucky thing for 
the bride that I have made my appearance. Antoine, 
what does this mean, and how has such an affair been 
arranged to take place in your cottage without the 
knowledge of any one at the chateau ? ” 

The trembling peasant abjectly replied : 

“ Oh, my lord, I — I did not know that you had 
returned, or I should never have presumed to do such 
a thing. But the young gentleman offered me so 
much money to let the little affair come off here, that 
—that I could not refuse the chance to gain it.” 

Courtnay, alternately pale and red, was so taken by 
surprise by this unexpected interruption, that for a few 
moments he was incapable of speaking. He recovered 
himself sufficiently to approach Claire, who still clung 
speechless to the arm of the unknown, and attempted 
to remove her. With assumed calmness he said : 

“ This lady is my wife, sir, or nearly so, for the cere- 
mony was almost concluded when you made your 
inopportune appearance. You will oblige me by 
retiring, and it can be finished.” 

“Excuse me, sir, but I prefer hearing what this 
young lady has to say, before I leave her to your 
mercy again. She was evidently resisting your attempt 


58 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


to force her to marry you ; I am the lord of the manor, 
and I am bound to protect her if she needs my assis- 
tance. 

By this time Claire had recovered sufficiently to 
speak. Assured of his power to protect her, she com- 
posedly said : 

“ I appeal to you, sir, to save me from a man who is 
suffering from temporary insanity. Nothing else can 
excuse the violence of which he has been guilty. I 
have been reared with him ; his mother has been one 
to me, but I have never given him cause to believe 
that I could be induced to marry him. In fact, there 
are insuperable obstacles to our union ; but seized with 
sudden madness, he has made this attempt to trample 
them in the dust. Protect me from him, but deal 
gently with him, for when he returns to his sober senses, 
he will be able to appreciate the enormity of the wrong 
he was about to do me.” 

“ It was no wrong — I am not mad,” cried Andrew, 
with blazing eyes and white lips. “ I will make you 
mine, or die in the attempt. Come back to me ; I have 
the best right to you, and this stranger shall not come 
between us. If he persist in doing so, his life shall be 
the forfeit.” 

He drew from his pocket a small revolver and pointed 
it at the stranger, but Claire threw herself before him 
and cried : 

“ Fire at me, for I would sooner be killed than 
accept the fate you would compel me to embrace.” 

At these words the fury died out of his eyes : he 
lowered the pistol, and a mortal paleness overspread 
his face, as he said in a broken tone : 

“ Is it so, Claire ? Do you recoil from me to that 
extent ? ” 


THE ABDUCTION. 


59 


“ I do, Andrew Courtnay. You have destroyed 
every feeling I have for you save contempt. Your 
mind must be warped from the right, or you would 
never have attempted such an outrage as this. Go 
back to Paris ; I shall not return with you. I will 
sooner trust this gentleman to take me safely back 
than find myself again in j^our power.” 

The stranger drew her arm through his own, and his 
expressive face lighted up as he said 

“ I believe I can claim the right to protect you, 
mademoiselle. You are Claire Lapierre, and this 
young gentleman is the son of Mrs. Courtnay, of Vir- 
ginia? ” 

“Quite so, monsieur,” cried Claire — “and you? — 
who are you ? ” 

“I am your brother, Armand Latour, and I am most 
happy that my sudden return to m}^ long deserted 
home has enabled me to rescue you from the unpleas- 
ant position in which I find you. From this hour, I 
will take you under my care, as it will scarcely be safe 
to permit you to return to Mrs. Courtnay’s roof while 
her son remains beneath it.” 

Claire turned toward him, their eyes met, and she 
impulsively threw herself upon his breast, exclaiming : 

“ Oh, my brother ! found at last when I most needed 
you ! How shall I ever prove to you the gratitude I feel 
for the inestimable service you have rendered me?” 

Andrew looked on like one in a dream; but he 
roused himself and drearily said : 

“ So, this is the end of all my well-laid plans. Fate 
is against me, and. I give up. Adieu, Claire ; I will 
return to my mother, and tell her all ; then I will tear 
you from my heart, ungrateful girl! You shall no 


60 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


longer have the power to torture me as you have lately 
done. Away from you I shall regain my senses, and 
go upon my way, happier, perhaps, than if I had 
forced you to my arms. If this man is really your 
brother, remain with him ; it will be best, for after 
this parting I never wish to look upon your tantalizing 
face again. It has worked me woe enough.” 

Touched by the anguish expressed in his pallid face, 
Claire held out her hand to him, and gently said: 

“ Forgive me, Andrew, if I have caused you unhap- 
piness, as I forgive you for attempting to coerce me 
into a union which you must have known would be 
most repulsive to me. In M. Latour I see my father 
as I first remember him ; I hear his voice speaking to 
me from his lips, and I willingly consent to remain 
with him. To-morrow I will seek your mother, but 
you and I need not meet again.” 

Courtnay took the offered hand, pressed it to his 
lips and heart, and then placing it in that of her broth- 
er’s, hoarsely said : 

“ Guard her and make her happy, as I meant to do. 
I believed that, in time, I would win her to love me, 
or I should never have attempted to carry out the plan 
you have frustrated.” 

He rushed out of the cottage, and in a few more 
moments was driving furiously toward Paris. 

At the appearance of M. Latour on the scene, the 
red-nosed clergyman had disappeared through the 
door of the inner room, from which he effected his 
escape through a window. 

Antoine and his wife were humbly standing against 
the wall, dreading the sentence that might be pro- 
nounced upon them by their angry seigneur. M. 


THE ABDUCTION. 61 

Latour sternly regarded them, and then said to the 
man : 

“ How dared you lend your aid to such a piece of 
villainy as this ? You and Nannette may prepare to 
leave Latour at once, for I shall not retain you in my 
service any longer.” 

4i Oh, my lord, I — I did not mean any harm to the 
young lady. I thought it was only a runaway match, 
till she went on so with the young man. Only forgive 
me this offence, Monsieur, and I will never be guilty 
of another. I have served you faithfully — indeed I 
have.” 

The dumb woman gesticulated violently to him, but 
he stoutly shook his head, and she turned despairingly 
away, uttering a strange, sobbing sound, that moved 
Claire to pity. She turned to her brother and appeal- 
ingly said : 

“ Since I am safe, and this adventure has brought us 
nearer together than months^ of formal intercourse 
might have done, I entreat that these poor people 
shall be pardoned. This will be a lesson to them to be 
more careful in the future to what temptations they 
give ear. You will not refuse the first request I make 
of you, my brother.” 

The shadow left his face, and with a smile, he said : 

“ I scarcely think any man could refuse a request 
from you, Claire. Do you know that I find you infi- 
nitely more charming than Mrs. Conrtnay’s letter led 
me to expect ? You are very beautiful, my sister, and 
you have proved that you possess the spirit of a hero- 
ine. Since you ask it I forgive these people — but I 
warn you, Antoine, that you must be very careful not 
to offend me in the future. Thank my sister for her 


62 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


successful intercession, and recognize in her your 
future chatelaine. ” 

Antoine impulsively threw himself upon his knees 
before Claire, and bowing almost to the earth, humbly 
said : 

“ You are an angel of goodness, mademoiselle, and I 
promise to be faithful to you till death.” 

His wife also knelt, making gestures of entreaty, and 
M. Latour curtly said : 

u Enough of this, good people. Explain to your 
wife, Antoine, that this treachery is forgiven, and you 
will not be sent adrift. -Come, Claire, let us go on to 
the chateau. I little thought, when I left it this after- 
noon for a walk, that I should return accompanied by 
the fair being who is to make it a home for me in the 
future.” 

He drew her arm beneath his own, and they issued 
from the cottage, and struck into a path overgrown 
with weeds, which led toward the gloomy-looking 
building that frowned in the distance. 


CHAPTER III. 

BROTHER AXD SISTER. 

T HE path pursued by M. Latour and his young 
companion soon merged in a broad carriage road, 
shaded by magnificent elms, which ascended towards 
the house. 

Everything bore an air of neglect and decay. The 
trees were unpruned; the shrubery left to run wild 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


63 


over the earth, and the statuary which ornamented the 
grounds was disfigured with patches of green moss — 
the accumulation of years. A marble fountain of 
beautiful design, which stood in a wide, grassy space, 
was almost choked up with the dead leaves that had 
accumulated in its basin ; and the water-nymph, that 
had once presided over it, lay prone upon the earth. 

The chateau consisted of a large central tower, 
which had evidently been a feudal stronghold, for its 
walls were many feet thick, and narrow loopholes 
served as windows — while a strong portal, heavily 
plated with iron, seemed yet to bid defiance to attack. 

Wings of more modern date had been added to it, 
though evidently at different periods. The western 
one was in a state of partial dilapidation, and seemed 
to be given up to the possession of rats and spiders. 
But the east wing, built in the florid, gothic style, was 
in thorough repair, and the terraced walk around it 
was in perfect order. Two immense dogs, carved in 
granite, guarded the entrance ; and Claire was quite 
surprised at the extent and elegant appearance of this 
modern portion of the building. 

As they walked forward, she said : 

“ It was a most fortunate chance that brought you 
to my assistance, Armand. That poor boy is not 
quite sane, I am convinced, and I feel the deepest pity 
for him. I hope you will not think that I have played 
the coquette with him, or attempted in any way to 
trifle with his affections. My gratitude to his mother, 
for all her goodness to me, would have rendered that 
impossible.” 

The brother looked at her, while she was speaking, 
and smilingly replied : 


64 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I can easily believe that no man, not a stoic, could 
live in the same house with you, Claire, and not lose 
his head about you. I am not surprised at young 
Courtnay’s folly, though it took rather an unusual and 
dangerous course for you. I think you were explicit 
enough to cure him, though ; and, after what you said 
to him in my presence, I can scarcely accuse you of 
misleading him. My arrival was opportune, indeed, 
and it was a mere chance that led me to stop here, at 
all. I have not seen the place for the last four years, 
but a small establishment has been kept up, and I 
knew that, come when I would, I should find my 
bailiff and his wife ready to receive me. I intended to 
go at once to Paris, but a sudden whim seized me to 
stop here a few days and see how the old place looked. 
I walked out this afternoon to call at the lodge and 
let Antoine know that I had returned, for I did not 
enter through his gate — one in the lower plantation 
gave me access to the grounds : that is how I happened 
to arrive at the moment you most needed my protec- 
tion. It is well for Mr. Courtnay that the kindness of 
his family to you will shield him : had he been any 
other person, I would have had him punished for his 
attempted abduction — and the law in this country is 
very severe on such offenders.” 

“ Andrew’s own regrets will be punishment enough. 
He is a reckless and headlong man, but he has many 
noble and excellent traits, and he will bitterly regret 
what he has done. He is the idol of his mother, and 
now that I am separated from him, he will do all that 
is possible to please her in the future. I am very 
grateful to you for consenting so readily to receive me, 
and allow me to claim a home in your house. 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 65 

“ Under any circumstances I could never have gone 
back to mamma after the event of this afternoon. I 
read your letter to her, and she thought it very kind.” 

A shadow swept over the expressive face of Latour, 
and he briefly said : 

“ Don’t thank me, Claire, for doing that which was 
plainly my duty. I owe you a debt which my father 
would never permit me to pay to him. I shall do my 
best to discharge it, for it has hung for years as an incu- 
bus upon me. I rejoiced when I learned that he had 
left behind him a claimant upon the fund on which he 
would never draw himself. It was set aside religiously 
for his use, but he would never accept any portion of 
it, and so bitter was he against me, that he withheld 
from me all knowledge of where he was to be found. 
But do not think that I neglected to inquire. I have 
written again and again to Philadelphia, the place to 
which he first went, but always without any result. 
It is eighteen years last May since we parted, and Mrs. 
Courtnay’s letter came to me in July, informing me of 
his second marriage, your birth and his decease. My 
sister, did he speak kindly of me before he left this 
earth forever ? Did he bid you seek my protection, 
and was it for that purpose you came to France ? ” 

Claire evaded the first question, but answered the 
last. 

“ I came hither to seek you, hoping that I might win 
a place in your regard, Armand. I must remain in 
France, for there are reasons why I cannot return to 
Virginia with Mrs. Courtnay, which shall hereafter be 
explained.” 

“ So much the better for me. I have passed 
through a lonely life. All my thoughts, all my desires 
4 


66 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


centered in one absorbing pursuit ; but that must soon 
yield me the reward I have so faithfully struggled to 
win, and I am most happy that I shall have some one 
to share my triumph — to enjoy the fabulous wealth it 
must yield to my grasp.” 

His face grew luminous, his eyes lighted up, and 
Claire was more struck than before with his resem- 
blance to their father. She softly said : 

“ If you had nothing to give me, Armand, I should 
love you for the likeness you bear to him that is gone. 
But I am very glad to know that you are rich, for I 
love magnificence, and my imagination revels in splen- 
did dreams which I never hoped to possess the power 
to realize.” 

“ You shall have it now, Claire. I promise it to you 
with certainty. To make you happy is the only atone- 
ment I can render for the past. But here we are at 
the house, and when supper is over, I will relate to 
you the cause of the estrangement between my father 
and myself. When you have heard all, I scarcely 
think you will consider me to blame for it.” 

Through the open portal they entered a vestibule 
paved with a mosaic of colored marbles, and hung 
around with family portraits, some of them very an- 
cient, and painted in the crudest style of art. Claire 
merely glanced at them, for they represented the an- 
cestors of the Latours, and she had no interest in them. 

Massive looking doors, elaborately carved, opened 
from this hall into the family apartments. M. Latour 
led the way into a suit of rooms fitted up in a style of 
luxury that surprised and delighted the young girl. 
The first they entered had a circular divan in the cen- 
tre of the polished floor, around which Persian rugs 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


67 


were placed, and the walls were decorated with pipes 
of various kinds, and stands of small arms richly inlaid. 

“ This is my smoking-room,” said Latour carelessly ; 
“ but I scarcely know why I fitted it up, for I am not 
very fond of the weed.” 

“Iam glad to hear you say so, for I do not like the 
scent of tobacco,” said Claire, frankly. “ This pretty 
room would make a charming boudoir.” 

“ So it would, and the one that adjoins it will suit 
you for a bed-room. I will have my pipes and arms 
taken away, and substitute musical instruments, pic- 
tures, books and flowers for them.” 

“ Thank you,” said Claire, blushing slightly at this 
unexpected offer, “but if I take possession of your 
rooms, what are you to do ? ” 

With a laugh he replied : 

“ Oh, as to that, I have a den in the old tower that 
suits me far better than any other place. In fact, I 
usually occupy it, when I am here, as it is the scene of 
my labors.” 

“ What sort of labor do you perform up in that 
gloomy looking place ? ” 

“ That is my secret, but it shall be none to you, if I 
find you really care to know it. Let us pass into the 
saloon, in which supper will soon be served. Over it 
we must get better acquainted, and afterwards we 
will exchange confidences.” 

She passed into the next apartment, the floor of 
which was waxed till it shone like a mirror ; on the 
walls hung several paintings of the modern school of 
art, representing game, fruit, and flowers. In the cen- 
tre of the floor was a small Turkey carpet, on which 
the table was placed, and chairs of the Louis Quatorze 


68 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


style were ranged against tlie walls. The large win- 
dows of this room looked out on a wild portion of the 
park, the broken appearance of which contrasted with 
the smiling grain fields that stretched away in the 
distance. 

An old woman in a quaint high cap, short petticoats, 
and bright colored stockings, was arranging a service 
of costly Sevres china, upon a waiter of silver filagree. 
She raised her head, and uttered an exclamation of 
astonishment at the appearance of a young girl with 
her master. 

“ Eh ! the saints be good to us. I never expected 
to see such a sight as this with my old eyes. Is it 
really you, M. Armand, a-coming in with a pretty 
young lady holding your hand ? Did she come from 
the East, too, and have you kept her hid away till 
now ? ” 

“ By no means, Zolande — on the contrary, I have 
just found her. You remember your old master, I 
suppose ? Look at this young girl, and see if you can 
recognize her as his daughter ? This is my sister, and 
her name is Claire Lapierre.” 

The woman stared blankly at the smiling face be- 
fore her, and shaking her head doubtfully, replied : 

“ I remember your father very well, but Mademoi- 
selle is not like him. She is more beautiful than any 
Lapierre that I have ever seen. She is as lovely as the 
picture of the Madonna that hangs in the chapel, but 
she hasn’t the peaceful look which that wears. She’ll 
have little peace herself, and deprive many others of 
it, too, before her destiny is accomplished.” 

“ Such a prophecy as that hardly entitles you to the 
reputation of a sibyl,” said Latour, laughing, “ for 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


69 


every pretty woman is bound to make as many men 
as possible miserable, and Claire would not be true to 
her mission if she did not. Get another cup and plate 
from the Sevres set, and bring on the supper as soon 
as possible, for I have eaten little to-day. 

“ No ? — coming back to the old place took your ap- 
petite away, and you scarcely touched my famous 
ragout. But I have a nice supper for }^ou of chocolate, 
bread and butter, and fruit. I hope Mademoiselle 
will enjo} r it.” 

“ As it .will be the first one partaken of under my 
brother’s roof, I am sure I shall,” said Claire. 

Zolande peered curiously at her, and asked: 

“ Are you quite sure you are M. Armand’s sister, 
now ? And if your are, how did you get here ? I 
have heard no carriage drive up to the door.” 

“ I came across the ocean to find my brother, and 
accident brought us face to face this afternoon. I am 
all the way from America,” said Claire, laughing at 
the old woman’s puzzled look. 

“ From ’Merica ! I thought all the people there 
were black ; but you are white enough. You don’t 
say that you came from that outlandish country, 
now ? ” 

“Yes, I am from that wild country, but as a general 
thing the people of it are fairer than the French. My 
father was thought a dark man over there, and my 
mother, who was an American, had blonde hair and 
fair complexion.” 

“Well, it is astonishing what lies travelers do tell. 
I always heard that the people there were negroes, 
with only a white man here and there. And you are 
truly my old master’s daughter, and no trickery about 
it, eh?” 


70 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Latour frowned, but Claire lightly replied : 

“ Time will show ; but such as I am, you must 
accept me as your chatelaine, for I shall take up my 
abode with my brother.” 

“ Well, if M. Armand is your brother, it is all right ; 
but you’re not like any of the Lapierres I have seen 
before. You’re like your mother, I suppose, and she 
must have been a mighty pretty creature too.” 

M. Latour here sternly spoke : 

“ Zolande, the doubts you express are impertinent, 
and must not be repeated elsewhere. This young lady 
is Claire Lapierre, and your future mistress. Remem- 
ber that, and do not permit your garrulity to betray 
you into disrespect to her or to me.” 

“ Hoity, toity, we’ve got very grand while we have 
been at the East, and the old nurse that took you from 
your mother’s arms can’t be allowed to have her say. 
You are my foster child, M. Armand, and I scarcely 
expected you to take me to task for the freedom of 
my tongue. I’m done now, and I am very glad that 
mademoiselle has come to brighten up the dullness of 
the old house, for we have been a long time without 
anything young or pretty in it.” 

M. Latour sighed softly and more gently said : 

“ I did not mean to vex you, Zolande ; and I assure 
you I remember with gratitude all your goodness to 
the motherless child you took to your bosom. Accept 
my sister as such, without further question ; make her 
welcome to Latour, and I shall soon forget the doubts 
that seemed to cast an imputation on her and on 
myself.” 

The old woman, easily appeased, nodded, laughed 
and said : 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


71 


“ You are too good to be doubted, M. Arm and.” 

She left the room, but returned in a few moments 
bearing a waiter on which the supper was placed. She 
transferred the dishes to the table, set a plate for 
Claire, invited them to be seated, and then, at a sign 
from M. Latour, left them alone. The pictures on the 
young girl’s cup were of such exquisite beauty that she 
thought it a shame to defile it with food. She naively 
said : 

“ These are too beautiful to be put to any common 
use. I thought such things could only be afforded by 
princes. You must be very rich, brother.” 

He shrugged his shoulders : 

“ Passably so, ma chere ; but my present possessions 
are but a tithe of those I hope to gain by the cunning 
of my brain and the skill of my combinations. As you 
say, these frail bits of china are worth their weight in 
gold, but when my Eldorado is won, I will give you 
cups of gold crusted with diamonds and emeralds. 
Your jewels shall rival the evening star in brilliancy, 
for all I have, or may win, shall be yours to do as you 
please with.” 

“ What a grand seigneur you are, Armand ! but 
while you lavish your fortune on me so profusely, is 
there no other with whom you would prefer sharing it ? 
Have you passed through life thus far without finding 
one to love ? ” 

He looked at her a moment with an expression of 
intense pain, and then curtly said : 

“ But for you I am alone in the world, and I do not 
regret that it is so. Treachery toward him who adores 
them, is the creed of women, and I have long since 
abjured the love of the sex. Cease admiring your 


72 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


cup, and drink your chocolate before it becomes cold. 
I can recommend the fruit, for it was grown on the 
place.” 

After sipping a few drops, Claire smiled faintly, and 
said : 

“It is curious that your opinion of women should 
exactly coincide with that of mine for your sex. To 
know a heart to be devoted, is a temptation to man to 
trample it in the dust. Is it not so, Armand ? ” 

Latour regarded her with surprise : 

“ You are too young and far too attractive, to speak 
from experience in such a matter. I am very sure that 
your heart would be deemed too precious to be cast 
away by the fortunate winner.” 

“ So much for your judgment,” she replied, with 
slightly scornful emphasis. “ What will you say when 
I tell you that I have gone through that crushing 
process ? that in passing through it, all the softer and 
gentler impulses of my nature have been estranged ? — 
that I am now but a glittering butterfly, ready to flutter 
through the world, accepting such homage as my beauty 
may win, but never trusting again — never believing in 
the truth of such professions of love as may be made 
to me?” 

She spoke the last words so rapidly, and with so 
much excitement that her brother was constrained to 
believe them. He gravely and compassionately said : 

“ Mrs. Courtnay hinted at no such experience in her 
letter to me, and it seems strange that in a new country, 
where the habits of the people must be more primitive 
than here, that a girl of your age should have been 
exposed to such treatment. I think you were but 
sixteen when you came to France.” 


BROTHER AND SISTER. 


73 


“No, I was not so old as that ; but the spoiler had 
found me nevertheless. There is so much more 
freedom allowed to girls in the country of my birth, 
than here, that the story I have to tell is not so very 
uncommon there, however painful it may be. Do you 
wish to hear my sad experience, Armand ? ” 

“ If you will relate it to me,” he gravely replied. 
“ Everything concerning yourself has a vivid interest 
for me.” 

After a brief pause, Claire commenced : 

“ Before my father died, a young artist was acci- 
dentally thrown upon his kindness, for care and shelter, 
during illness. He flattered me ; he seemed to love 
me ; and he wooed me with apparent openness. Papa’s 
consent to our union was won, for he believed that he 
should not live long, and he thought that Walter 
Thorne would give me a home and happiness when he 
was gone. 

“ My father died suddenly, and I went to Mrs. 
Courtnav. My lover was there, too. Mamma insisted 
that I should remain with her two years, to prepare 
myself for the brilliant destiny I foolishly believed 
opening before me. But I listened to the false man, 
whose beguiling tongue had won me, and consented to 
a private marriage.” 

Latour uttered an expression of incredulous amaze- 
ment. 

“ Married ! — and without the knowledge of your guar- 
dian?” 

“ Certainly. Mamma knew nothing of it till I was 
far away. My husband took me to Richmond, where, 
for a few weeks, I was as happy as the angels in 
heaven. Then we went to his home. Armand, I was 


74 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


ignominiously expelled from the house, by the father- 
in-law I had been taught to believe would gladly 
welcome me. He told me that my marriage should be 
annulled, and threatened to disinherit his son if he 
did not consent to a legal separation. Let it suffice ; the 
craven submitted to his terms, and I am a repudiated 
wife. In France, no freedom is accorded to young 
girls, but with widows it is different ; and I wish you 
to present me to society as your widowed sister. That 
is why I have inflicted on you this long explanation.” 


CHAPTER IV. 
claire’s programme. 

( CLAIRE had spoken with a cold assumption of in- 
J difference that almost appalled her brother. It 
might have been thought that she was relating the his- 
tory of a stranger, instead of the fiery ordeal through 
which she had passed but a few years before. M. 
Latour found it difficult to believe that it was indeed 
her own experience. He asked : 

“ Is th'is really true, Claire ? or have you only made 
up a romance that you may enjoy a laugh at my 
expense if I am credulous enough to believe it ? ” 

“ It is true as the holy gospels, every word of it.” 

“ Then how can you speak so calmly of it ? Such 
treachery was enough to break your heart.” 

“ If mine had broken I should have died, you know ; 
but I was too strong for that, and it only killed the 
tender organism from which the deeper emotions are 


CLAIRE’S PROGRAMME. 


75 


supposed to emanate. I shall never again feel love for 
any mortal man, but I intend to make many of them 
feel it for me. I have but one ambition now, Armand, 
and that is, to be the most successful coquette of my 
day. You will give me position, prestige, and I can 
do the rest for myself.” 

Latour exclaimed : 

“ What a revelation from the lips of a girl of 
eighteen ! People must grow old very soon in that 
trans-Atlantic country from which you came, Claire. 
You talk like a woman of fifty, who is disenchanted of 
everything. We must change all that, my dear child. 
But tell me, was there no one to take up your cause 
and punish your recreant husband for his conduct 
towards you ? The young Quixote who ran off with 
you to-day against your will, was too glad of the result, 
I suppose, to interfere in any way. I only wish that I 
had been there.” 

“ I am very glad you were not, for your life is too 
important to me to be pitted against that of Walter 
Thorne. His day of humiliation will come — shall 
come — so leave him to such happiness as he may find 
in the gilded bondage into which he has sold himself. 
1 can wait . When Andrew learned how shamefully I 
had been thrust away, he would have avenged me, but 
I would not permit it. I shall fight that battle single- 
handed, and yet bring my faithless husband to my 
feet. What I shall then do with him, Gods knows ! 
butiie shall surely drink of the cup of humiliation he 
pressed to my lips. In the meantime I shall perfect 
my weapons, and make myself unrivalled in the art of 
fascination.” 

She smiled up in his face so brightly that Latour 
exclaimed : 


76 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


You must be trying to mystify me, Claire. If all 
this were true, you could never speak of that wretched 
past in so light a tone.” 

“ If ‘there is but one step from the sublime to the 
ridiculous,’ there is no more from tragedy to comedy. 
I have taken it, that is all. The anguish has exhausted 
itself, leaving a deadly vacuum behind, which must be 
filled by the follies of life, or ache and burn forever. 
I prefer the first to the last, and I intend to be a very 
Euphrosvne. Three years are a long time at my age, 
Armand. The wounds have scarred over ; I care noth- 
ing now for him who inflicted them, and I find myself 
in that enviable position coveted by one of my sex — 
‘ Young, rich and a widow.’ You need not add ‘be- 
witched,’ as vulgar people in my country call a de- 
serted wife, though I have no objection to being called 
bewitching,” and Claire arose and courtsied with a 
grace and piquancy that were irresistible. 

Her brother laughed and replied : 

“I find you so, at all events. Your being a widow 
will simplify our manege. I was thinking that I would 
ask a cousin of mine to matronize you, as you are too 
young and lovely to be left to enter society without a 
chaperone ; but widows are privileged, and you can do 
without Madame Laroche, if you choose.” 

“ I certainly shall not choose to have a duenna 
placed over me. Let your venerable relative alone, 
for I assure you I can do admirably without her. I 
intend to be free as air, bright as the sunshine, and 
gay among the gayest. I hope you are fond of society, 
monfrere 

“Not very ; I have had my day, and of late years I 
have given myself up to a very absorbing pursuit. But 


CLAIRE’S PROGRAMME. 


77 


I have friends who will take you out as often as you 
wish. I can place you in a very pleasant and unex- 
ceptionable clique when I take you to reside in the 
city of delights, as an Oriental would call Paris.” 

“ That will do very well. I have little shyness, 
though I have been reared in the backwoods, as you 
would consider the interior of Virginia. I shall make 
my way and establish a position for myself as queen of 
hearts. 1 intend to be that or nothing.” 

The grave face of the listener relaxed into a smile, 
and he said : 

“ You are quite a new study to me, Claire. You 
are unlike all the other women I have ever known.” 

“ Yes — in one respect — I am not conventional. I 
speak from impulse, and I am perfectly frank. As you 
see me now, I shall always be.” 

“ Really — I find you enchanting ; but the dark hour 
must come on you sometimes. No one can be uniform- 
ly gay and bright.” 

“No one with a heart; but as I told you before, 
mine is dead. In the place of the thing that once flut- 
tered and struggled with anguish, is a quiet organ that 
performs the physical functions of life, but says noth- 
ing to my sentimentalism. Like Mary of Scotland, I 
can compare my heart to nothing save the diamond, 
for it is cold, hard and glittering ; ready to shine or to 
cut, as the need may be, but never again to thrill with 
emotion or quiver with pain. That phase is over, thank 
Heaven, and through suffering I have won the right to 
triumph over other hearts in my turn ; to avenge upon 
the whole false sex, save yourself, the bitter wrong I 
have met at the hands of one among them.” 

“Your words are steeped in bitterness, Claire, 


78 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


though your tone is cold. My child, I might as rea- 
sonably dedicate my life to a crusade against women as 
you against men, for I have had as great provocation 
as yourself. In one respect, our destinies are alike, for 
I am a deserted husband.” 

“ You ! I did not know that you had ever been 
married.” 

44 That is not surprising, considering how little you 
know about me. You have had no reserve toward me, 
and I will show none to you. Come with me to my 
sanctum, and I will explain to you the cause of the 
long estrangement between my father and myself, and 
show you how intimately my matrimonial unhappiness 
was connected with that unfortunate disagreement.” 

Latour touched a small bell, and Zolande reappeared, 
followed by an old, gray-haired man who keenly scru- 
tinized the fair face of the new inmate. His master 
said : 

44 Ah ! Pierre, so you have returned from Paris. 
Have you executed all my commissions ? ” 

44 All of them, Monsieur, and the things you ordered 
are in the tower. You will find all right when you go 
up.” 

44 Thanks — and now let me present my sister to you. 
Your old master married in America, and this young 
lady is his daughter.” 

Pierre bowed low to Claire, and said : 

44 Welcome, Mademoiselle. I can see the family 
likeness, although my old woman can’t. You are a 
true Lapierre, my lady.” 

Claire smiled and said : 

44 1 am glad you are not so difficult to convince of 
my relationship to my brother as your wife was. 


CLAIRE’S PROGRAMME. 79 

Whether I resemble Armand or not, I am really his 
sister.” 

44 Yes — and to be treated with the respect due to the 
mistress of my house. Claire is very young, but I 
think she will prove herself quite capable of ruling the 
chateau.” 

The old retainer bowed, but he muttered inaudibly : 

44 I don’t doubt she will rule it, and you too, for you 
are too soft-hearted where women are concerned, badly 
as one has treated you.” 

44 What is that you are saying, sir ? ” asked Latour. 

44 Oh, nothing, Monsieur. I was only thinking aloud 
what a kind and noble gentleman you are to take to 
your new sister so quick, though you found her under 
such queer circumstances. I stopped at the lodge as I 
came back, and Antoine told me about what happened 
there this afternoon.” 

M. Latour flushed angrily, and he sharply said : 

44 It will be best for both you and Antoine to keep 
your own counsel about that. It will not be well for 
either of you if that attempted abduction becomes a 
subject of gossip. Do you understand ? ” 

With sudden humility Pierre replied : 

44 It shall not through me, Monsieur. I met the 
young man driving back to Paris like one mad. I don’t 
wonder that he felt badly after losing such an angel of 
beauty as Mademoiselle.” 

' 44 There — that will do, Pierre. You and your wife 
can drink a bottle of wine to my sister’s health, and if 
any curiosity is expressed about her, you can explain 
that she came to France three years ago under the pro- 
tection of Mrs. Courtnay, a wealthy American lady, 
who placed her in a boarding-school to complete her 


80 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


education. That is enough for your world to know ; 
to mine , I shall make my own statements.” 

“ Thank you, Monsieur. Both Zolande and I are 
quite satisfied with our new chatelaine.” 

Latour moved his hand, and the two left the room. 
He then said : 

“ Come, Claire, the laboratory is lighted, and I will 
show you the dingy theatre in which my triumph will 
be won. Yours will be gained before the footlights, 
amid all the glitter and glare of falsehood and vanity ; 
yet I would scarcely consent to exchange with 3 r ou.” 

“ Are you a magician ? and are you taking me to the 
enchanted chamber in which your magic mirror is 
kept ? If you have such a thing, pray bring before me 
the past scenes of my life. I should like that story 
about Cornelius Agrippa to be proved true.” 

“ I am afraid I shall scarcely be able to allay your 
doubts of its authenticity. I have magic glasses in 
abundance, but they. are not reflecting ones.” 

“ What then are they ? ” 

“ Crucibles — retorts, and so forth, but a magician’s 
wand could scarcely evoke greater marvels than I in- 
tend to produce from mine.” 

“ Umph ! only a chemist, after all,” was the rather 
contemptuous rejoinder. “ It is a dreadful fall to come 
down from the realms of magic to the prosy realities of 
life.” 

“Prosy! if you knew anything of my magic, you 
would call it anything but that. It is the most won- 
derful science known, and opens vistas to the imagina- 
tion to which even poets dare not soar. It unlocks the 
secrets of nature, places the able experimenter on an 
elevation worthy of a demi-god, and gives to a crea- 


CLAIRE’S PROGRAMME. 81 

ture of time the power of a superior intelligence. Oh, 
it is grand — stupendous ! ” 

While they were speaking thus, the two crossed the 
vestibule, and entered a long, flagged passage feebly 
lighted by a lamp held in the hand of a figure in armor 
which stood in a recess about half way to a flight of 
stone steps that wound upward for many feet. Lamps 
were placed on brackets at certain intervals, and Claire 
followed her brother, wondering if she should find 
anything at the end of her pilgrimage to repay her for 
the trouble of mounting that long flight of stairs. 

They at length gained a platform on which opened 
a massive door, and M. Latour threw it back, saying : 

“ Enter my sanctum : and know at the same time 
that since it was dedicated to its present use the foot 
of no other woman has ever trodden its floor. I in- 
tend to take you entirely into my confidence, Claire, 
for you would never rest contented if I attempted any 
mystery with you. I shall explain to you what gives 
an interest to my arid life, and I think that I can trust 
to your discretion to reveal nothing that can annoy 
me.” 

“ Of course you may, but I cannot see how I am to 
tell anything about your experiments, for I know little 
enough of your pet science, and I am too much afraid 
of being blown up to witness any of them.” 

They entered a large octagon room, brilliantly 
lighted by an iron chandelier that hung from the cen- 
tre of the ceiling. On one side of this apartment a 
furnace was built, and on long tables placed against 
the walls were the strangely fashioned instruments used 
by the chemist. A quantity of fuel was piled up ready 
for use, and on a large desk lay a number of bars of lead. 
5 


82 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


A couch, with a mattress and pillows, stood between 
two of the long, narrow windows, near which was a 
single lounging chair, comfortably cushioned. 

Latour looked around and said : 

“I am glad to get back to the old place again, for 
after all, this homely room is the home of my heart, 
and I have found in it more true happiness than in any 
other place on earth.” 

“ What a weary life yours must have been, Armand. 
I do hope that I may be able to brighten it a little, 
now that I have come to live with you. Since you 
will give me so much, I shall feel bound to make you 
happy, if I can.” 

“ Ah ! if you can. Well, yes, certainly a great deal 
is in your power. I am not a sentimental dreamer, 
Claire. I have made up my mind to the inevitable, 
and I try to glean from the lees of life left me, such 
enjoyment as is possible. As long as God gives life, 
he gives something to live for ; that is my philosophy.” 

“ I dare say it is as good as any other. It takes a 
great deal of philosophy to get through this world 
tolerably, at any rate. I once thought the future a 
fairy dream, but the delusion was brief enough, and 
here am I at eighteen, as old in heart as if I were 
eighty. But I intend to get my share of amusement 
out of life, if I fail in everything else. I will stay 
with you, and together we will abuse the world that 
has ceased to charm us.” 

“ You are too young to turn cynic yet, Claire. In the 
adoration you must win, in the incense that must be 
offered at so peerless a shrine, you will find such 
intoxicating delight that it will be long before you 
complain that there are no more hearts to conquer.” 


CLAIRE’S PROGRAMME. 


83 


“ Yet a time may come when I shall weep as Alex- 
ander did, but it shall not be maudlin weeping, as I 
suspect his was. There, I think we have talked non- 
sense enough, and now to business. In spite of my 
levity, I am most anxious to hear the story you have 
promised me, for I like you well enough to wish to 
exonerate you from all blame in the past.” 

“ Then you have been taught to blame me, Claire,” 
he sadly said. “ My father would not leave you free 
to love me without a doubt coming between us.” 

“ Our father never spoke of you to me but twice, 
and that was shortly before his death. That you had 
suffered him to remain poor, while you were rich, was 
what I thought most of. He never fully explained 
what occurred to sever you so completely from him. 
To you I look, to-night, for that explanation.” 

“And you shall have it. I brought you hither that 
you might listen to my vindication, on the spot on 
which the last interview between my father and my- 
self took place. It is now many years since he sat in 
that chair, and spoke the cruel words that sundered us 
forever. Committed the — but I will not forestal my 
story. You must hear it in sequence, that you may 
fully understand it, and do me tardy justice. Be 
seated, Claire, for it will take some time to relate what 
I have to tell.” 

In place of obeying him, she went to the desk and 
attempted to lift a package of the lead. She asked : 

“Why are these placed here? They can be of no 
use to you in your experiments.” 

“ Do you think so ? Ha ! ha ! — see how ignorant 
you are. Those were brought here by m} r order, that 
I may test with them the secret I traveled even to Per- 


84 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


sia to obtain. I believe it to be now mine — though, as 
yet, I have made no use of it. I reserved my crown- 
ing experiment for the old tower to witness.” 

Claire listened, half-bewildered, but she awaited an 
explanation without speaking. Latour went on : 

“Feel the weight of that ponderous package and 
fancy what its value will be when transmuted into one 
of the precious metals ; and not that alone, but hun- 
dreds of others like it can I, by my skill, turn into 
gold. My hordes shall be countless — my power great 
as that of the spirit that dwelt in Aladdin’s fabled 
lamp. Such is the secret I promised to confide to you, 
and I ask you to hold it inviolate for the present, both 
for your sake and my own.” 

Claire incredulously asked : 

“ Do you really believe, Armand, that by any chem- 
ical art you can transmute this heavy, common metal 
into glittering gold ? My poor brother, I am afraid 
you are the victim of a delusion that will only impov- 
erish you. I have read of such experiments, but those 
who made them died ruined or mad. Perhaps I have 
been sent to you to warn you from the precipice on 
which you stand, and lure you back to the common 
pursuits of life.” 

She went up to him as she spoke, laid her hand 
caressingly upon his shoulder, and looked into his face. 
It was perfectly tranquil, and he seemed as if he had 
scarcely heard her words. He calmly said : 

“ That is the common cant of the world. I have 
heard it before, but it passed by me as the idle wind. 
I can afford to disregard it, for I have my own convic- 
tions, based on certainty. I do not expect you to be 
wiser than your day and generation, Claire ; but I 


CLAIRE’S PROGRAMME. 


85 


have seen that base metal transmuted into gold myself. 
Nay, I have assisted at it, and I feel assured that I 
now know enough to accomplish it myself. I saw 
Osman Melitki put the lead in the crucible and take 
from it the virgin gold, without alloy. I paid him an 
enormous price to witness the experiment; but what I 
have seen I know, so why should you doubt my power 
to do the same ? ” 

“ But may he not have practised a trick on you ? 
Those Eastern people are so clever at legerdemain that 
such a thing might have been done.” 

M. Latour disdainfully replied : 

“If you understood chemistry you would not think 
a deception of that kind so esisy, It was possible, but 
I scarcely think my coadjutor would have attempted 
one with me . No — we acted in good faith toward 
each other, and I am sure that Melitki would no more 
have made an effort to deceive me than I would with 
him. Here is a ring made with that gold, and I assure 
you it is perfectly pure.” 

He held up his hand, on the fourth finger of which 
was a heavy hoop of gold, with cabalistic figures en- 
graved upon it, and asked : 

“ What do you think of that, now, Mademoiselle 
Incredulous ? ” 

44 Claire quickly replied : 

44 1 think it is fine gold, but I have yet to be con- 
vinced that it was once nothing but lead. However, 
let us not discuss that question now, but give me the 
explanation you promised.” 

44 Sit down in that large chair then, and I will com- 


mence. 


86 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


CHAPTER Y. 
armand’s history. 

C LAIRE threw herself upon the seat, and Latour 
took his place on the side of the couch ; he sat 
some moments pondering over the past, trying to recal 
with vividness those long vanished days, with all their 
bitterness and heart-burning. 

At length he raised his eyes, fixed them steadily 
upon her, and commenced in clear, measured tones : 

“ In those days, when I was all in all to my father, 
I was the only creature he had to love, for my mother 
died when I was very young, and he transferred to me 
the affection he had felt for her. I was never per- 
mitted to feel her loss ; all that the most tender 
thoughtfulness could bestow was lavished on me ; and 
as I grew to man’s estate, my father showed the ut- 
most confidence in my judgment and capacity for busi- 
ness. 

“ He was then at the head of a large banking estab- 
lishment, and enjoyed a European celebrity for finan- 
cial ability. He endeavored to train my mind to the 
same pursuit, but I had other tastes Avhich conflicted 
with his wishes ; my intellect possessed a wider range 
than his, and the dr;y details of business could not 
satisfy me or fill my thoughts to the exclusion of things 
I found more attractive. 

“ To induce me to yield my tastes to his wishes, he 
offered me a great bribe ; when I had barely attained 
my majority, a partnership in the firm was proposed to 
me, on the condition that I should devote all my 


ARMAND’S HISTORY. 


8T 


energies to the business. I accepted it reluctantly, for 
I felt that it was a snare under a brilliant guise ; but I 
did accept it, and for three years I made myself a 
martyr to the firm. My father was so well satisfied 
with my management, that at the end of that time he 
ventured to make an extensive tour, leaving the affairs 
of the house in my hands. 

“ Alas, he chose the worst possible time for his 
travels. I had not long before seen a beautiful girl 
with whom I had fallen madly in love. I was dream- 
ing only of Josephine Le Blonde, when I should have 
been watching the money market. I idled away the 
time in her society, which should have been employed 
in watching those around me. 

“ The cashier in our establishment was implicitly 
trusted by both my father and myself, but after events 
proved that he had long watched for an opportunity 
to rob the house. 

“ He found it now. A commercial crisis was im- 
pending, and I was unprepared for it. I used the 
credit of the firm to borrow from our personal friends, 
and I believed we would be able to weather the storm. 
I still think we should have done so, if I had not gone 
into the country on a visit to Josephine, leaving the 
affairs of the firm to be managed by Bellair in my 
absence. 

“ That night he disappeared, and with him the funds 
I had received from m}^ friends. Six millions of francs 
in notes and gold, were taken and none of them could 
ever be traced. The robbery had been carefully pre- 
pared for, and not a clue to its perpetrator could be 
discovered. 

“Bellair’s flight was a death-blow to the credit of 


88 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Lapierre & Son, and my father came home to find ruin 
in the shape most terrible to him. You do not under- 
stand what it is to a mercantile man to lose the prestige 
he has won through years of successful toil ; to sink 
down among the dishonored herd of speculators who 
have failed to meet their engagements through want of 
tact or lack of honesty. It is difficult for those who 
suffer from a failure to distinguish between the two, 
and obloquy is visited alike on the unsuccessful honest 
man and on the swindler. 

44 Our poor father had an almost morbid sense of 
honor, and he was outraged in the most sensitive part 
of his nature. The account books had been given into 
my charge, but for many months I had suffered Bellair 
to keep them in his possession, for I was so much 
infatuated with the false woman who held me in her 
toils, that I was glad to shift the responsibility to one 
who seemed so willing to accept it, and I devoted the 
time thus gained to my fair idol. 

44 Bellair was a plausible man, and for years he had 
possessed the unlimited trust of every one in the estab- 
lishment ; but he was that most dangerous of all 
knaves — a man who assumes an appearance of truth 
and probity only that he may gain power for a grand 
villainy when the favorable opportunity arrives. 

44 But for my carelessness, it could never have arisen, 
and for that I shall always blame myself ; but I swear 
to you that I was guiltless of any thought of wrong. 
I believed the integrity of Bellair as impregnable as 
my own — his interest in Lapierre & Son scarcely 
inferior to that felt by my father himself. 

44 When the books were exhibited, it was found that 
false entries had been made ; large deposits were not 


AKMAND’S HISTORY. 


89 


accounted for at all, though the men who had trusted 
us held vouchers for them. Nothing saved me from 
prosecution but the most positive proof that, for 
months past, the books had been kept entirely by the 
wretch who had consummated our ruin. 

“ The crash was complete, and when our business 
was w r ound up, it was found that we could scarcely 
pay half our liabilities by sacrificing every available 
portion of the property we possessed. 

“ I cannot tell you what I suffered in those days, 
Claire, for I had not only financial ruin to face, but 
also to bear the burden of broken hopes and outraged 
affections. My father opposed my union with Jose- 
phine Le Blonde, for she was not in our sphere of life. 
He declared that she was vain, giddy, and utterly 
nnsuited to me as a wife ; but I was madly in love 
with her, and I could see no flaw in the lovely being 
I had set up as an idol in the sanctuary of my heart. 

“ Josephine possessed no fortune, and I determined 
to endow her with a small estate my father had pur- 
chased and settled on me when I attained my twenty- 
first year. I considered this property mine to do as I 
pleased with ; and two weeks before the knowledge of 
our ruin came to me, I privately married Josephine, 
and gave it to her as a bridal present. 

“ The settlements were drawn up in such a manner 
as to give my wife exclusive control of the income of 
ten thousand francs arising from the estate. At the 
time I did this, I considered such a sum a mere baga- 
telle, for I annually spent five times the amount on my 
own pleasures. 

“ When the settlement with our creditors was made, 
my father gave in that as a portion of the assets, and I 


90 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


was forced to avow my marriage and show that I had 
placed the property beyond my own control. I had 
never seen him angry before, but now his rage was 
terrible. I thought then, and I still believe, that he 
was suffering from temporary insanity ; in no other 
way can I excuse what followed, for I, too, have had 
my wrongs to bear, and they have been deep and 
bitter. 

“ Some of those who had suffered loss through us 
declared that I had taken care to provide for myself, 
and it was even insinuated that I was in league with 
the villian who had robbed us — that I shared with him 
the spoils he had secured. 

“No one had the hardihood to accuse me openly, 
for there was no proof of collusion on my part, and 
each one hesitated to give the charge a tangible shape. 
But my poor father heard those things whispered ; he 
was maddened by them, and he came hither to seek 
and accuse me himself. 

“ This old tower had descended to me from my 
mother, and with the few acres that were then attached 
to it, was held by a tenure that was inalienable. It 
was of too little value at any rate to be cared for by 
our creditors, and I was allowed to retain it. I had 
taken refuge here to gain time for reflection and to 
settle on some plan to retrieve our broken fortunes. 

“To restore them I was resolved, cost what labor it 
might. To repay both principal and interest to those 
who had lost by us I fully intended, if all the years of 
my life were devoted to that purpose. I had written 
to Josephine that I would go to her when I had defi- 
nitely settled my plans, for even then I intuitively felt 
that from her I should receive but little consolation. 


AEMAND’S HISTORY. 


91 


I had seen her once after the final crash, and she so 
openly betrayed her chagrin at finding herself the wife 
of a poor man, when she thought she had married a 
millionaire, that I was struck to the heart by her world- 
liness, and knew too late that the estimate placed upon 
her by my father was the true one. 

“ Sorely wounded in spirit, almost hopeless of the 
future that lay before me, I immured myself in this 
solitude to regain my courage, to strengthen the armor 
of my soul for the stern struggle I knew I must make 
to save my good name and go among men once more 
with lofty front, unsoiled by suspicion of wrong to 
others. 

“ I was pacing the floor of this room, thinking almost 
to madness, when my father came in and threw him- 
self upon the chair you now occupy. He looked old, 
haggard, and wild, and he carried his hand in his bosom 
as if something was concealed there that he was anx- 
ious to assure himself was quite safe. He glared on 
me with an expression I could not interpret, and after 
a pause said : 

“ ‘ It is consummated ; we have sunk down — down 
from the pinnacle of prosperity, to obloquy and igno- 
miny ; and I, unhappy father that I am, I have not 
even the right to defend my own son. If I am ex- 
onerated from fraud, it is at his expense ; and those 
have been found who even dare to say that I am to be 
supported from the property that has been secured to 
that woman you claim as your wife. I would sooner 
beg from door to door — sooner starve than touch a 
crust beneath the roof that owns her for its mistress — 
the cozening Delilah who has shorn you of your honor 
and your self-respect.’ 


92 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


44 ‘No, not of either,’ I replied. ‘ I will live down 
the slanders of which I have been made the victim, 
and yet prove to those who have trusted us that we 
were fully worthy of their confidence. As to my wife, 
since she stands in that relation to me, I ask that you 
will speak of her with less acrimony, or not name her 
at all. I have been infatuated by her to that degree 
that I have lost all in gaining her ; but being mine, I 
am bound to protect her even from you. I do not ask 
you to accept anything from her ; I shall take nothing 
from her resources myself, for I intend to labor for 
bread for you and myself, and also for something 
more.’ 

“ With a dreary sigh, he asked: 

“ ‘ Who will give employment to the dishonored 
bankrupt ? The opportunity to regain your lost pres- 
tige will never be afforded you. No man will trust 
you — no one — no one.’ 

44 ‘ Then we will emigrate,’ I said. ‘ There are lands 
in which money can be accumulated more rapidly than 
in France. We will go together to the East Indies. 
We have correspondents there who will aid both you 
and me to get into business. I am young and strong, 
and I will bear the heat and burden of the battle that 
is to be waged. I will yet repay those men to the ut- 
termost farthing of what we owe them, and the name 
of Lapierre shall be as untarnished as it was before the 
wretched failure.’ 

“ He shook his head, and moodily said : 

“ 4 But you forget your wife. What is to become of 
her if this fine plan is carried into effect ? ’ 

“ 4 Of course she must accompany me in my exile, 
but you need not live with us unless Josephine be- 


ARMAND’S HISTORY. 


93 


comes more pleasant in your sight. When you know 
that she and you are the only beings I love, you should 
suffer your heart to open to her.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, my poor deluded boy ! ’ he passionately cried. 
‘ Do you in truth love this false syren who has lured 
you to destruction ? But for Aer, you would have been 
faithful to the trust reposed in you ; you would have 
guarded the interests confided to you even with your 
life, but she led you away, she bewitched you to that 
degree that everything was forgotten but her fair face 
and beguiling tongue. To her I owe the ruin that has 
overtaken me, and never, as I hope for mercy, will I 
forgive her.’ 

“ He looked like a maniac as he uttered those words, 
and I endeavored to soothe him by saying : 

“ 4 Josephine shall help me to retrieve the misfor- 
tunes she is wrongfully accused of causing. It was 
not her fault that I lost my head about her. I alone 
am to blame. In time your feelings must soften toward 
one who has really committed no offence against you, 
and you will revoke what you have just said.’ 

“ He looked at me very strangely, and still kept his 
hand inside his vest, but I could not imagine that he 
meant to do me any bodily injury. I felt certain that 
he had a pistol concealed there, but my only fear was 
that he meditated suicide. After a silence of some 
length, he asked : 

“ 4 Do you persist in clinging to that woman, although 
I tell you that she and I are antagonisms — that we can 
never dwell together beneath the same roof? Yet you 
are my only child, and from your infancy you have 
been the one joy and hope of my heart. Will you give 
me up for her f ’ 


94 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ ‘ If you insist that I must sacrifice one or the other 
the law of God must decide for me,’ I replied, ‘ but 
my affection for my wife is not incompatible with the 
filial duty 1 owe to you.’ 

“ ‘ Filial d 1,’ he cried in a transport of fury. 

I’ll have none of that twaddle. You either belong to 
me or to her, and you shall choose between us. Would 
she help you to build up your credit anew, do you 
think? Would such a woman as I know her to be, 
submit to a single privation to restore tarnished honor ? 
Would she give up the slightest caprice for your sake ? 
No — a thousand times no, and }^ou will yet find out all 
the hollowness of her nature. It maddens me to know 
that for her sake, you have trifled away all that is most 
precious to manhood — self-respect, independence, bril- 
liant prospects — all given for a doll who thinks only 
of her own beauty, of the luxury she loves much better 
than she has ever loved you.’ 

“ His words were so true that they stung me to the 
quick. I angrily said : 

“ 4 Cease, sir, to vilify my wife, I have married her 
— she is mine to defend, even from the attacks of my 
own father.’ 

44 4 Yes — and to sustain at the expense of all that 
should be dear to you. But that shall never be ; since 
she would alienate you from me, and make you her 
dishonored slave, I will play the part of Brutus, and 
take the life I gave.’ 

“With the rapidity of lightning, he drew forth his 
pistol and fired twice at me before I could make an 
effort to evade him.” 

Claire uttered an exclamation of horror. 

“ Is it possible that my father tried to take your life, 


ARMAND’S HISTORY. 95 

Armand. He told me nothing of this. Ah ! you have 
indeed had much to bear. ,, 

Latour threw open the bosom of his shirt, and point- 
ed to two scars upon his breast. 

“ The balls entered here, and I fell, as he thought, 
dead. As I told you before, I believe he was deranged 
when he committed the deed. 

“ When it was accomplished, he rushed down the 
stair-case, and left the house without saying a word to 
any one : but my old nurse caught a glimpse of his 
white face as he mounted his horse, and alarmed, she 
scarcely knew why, she came up to the tower to see if 
all was well with me. 

“You may imagine her consternation when she found 
me lying upon the floor in a pool of my own blood. 
She lifted me to the couch, and staunching the wounds 
as well as possible, left me a few moments to send her 
husband for a surgeon. 

“ It is useless to dwell on all that happened then. I 
lay ill for many weeks ; my father effected his escape 
from France, and sailed for the^ United States. I do 
not know if remorse haunted him for the deed he had 
committed in a moment of frenzy, for he never wrote 
to me, though he was aware of my convalescence. 

“ I sent a letter to him to Philadelphia as soon as I 
was able to hold a pen, for to that city I knew he had 
gone, through one of the few friends he trusted. No 
notice was taken of my appeal, and I was too proud to 
make another attempt to conciliate one who owed me 
some reparation for the suffering he had inflicted on 
me. 

“ Had my father written to me, I would have told 
him that the chief obstacle to our re-union was re- 


96 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


moved, for my wife refused to visit me in my illness, 
and demanded a separation from me. She wrote me 
the most heartless and cruel letter, informing me that 
I had deceived her when I married her ; that I must 
have been aware of the ruin which impended over me 
before our union. She wound up by saying that an- 
other suitor less wealthy than she believed me to be 
was preferred to me, but she had sacrificed her inclina- 
tions to the gratification of her pride, and had given 
me her hand in the full confidence that I could bestow 
on her the splendor I had so often promised. She 
declared that she regarded marriage in the light of a 
business contract, and the party that failed to redeem 
all his or her promises, merited repudiation. She 
asked me to give her back her freedom, that she might 
bestow her hand on the man she preferred to me. At 
the same time she plainly stated that she expected to 
be permitted to retain the estate I had settled on her, 
as compensation for the wrong she had suffered at my 
hands.” 

Claire again exclaimed, but Latour raised his hand 
and frigidly said : 

“No comments, if you please, Claire. I can tell 
this, but even at this distance of time I cannot bear to 
hear Josephine harshly spoken of by any one save 
myself. That is the right I have purchased through 
suffering, but it is accorded to no one else.” 

After a pause he again went on : 

“How I lived through those days I have never been 
able to understand ; but I think it was my resolution 
to re-establish my financial credit that gave me strength 
to bear up under the double load that was crushing 
me to the earth. That was something to live for, even 
if a false woman had deserted me. 


ARMAND’S HISTORY. 


97 


“ Zolande is an excellent nurse, and I was lucky 
enough to have the attendance of a skillful surgeon ; 
through their unremitting care I was restored to the 
power to act, and think for myself. The first use I 
made of my restored health was to petition for a disso- 
lution of the tie that had become as odious to me as it 
was oppressive to Josephine. I had wrecked my life 
for the sake of this woman, and she refused to share 
hers with me. The knowledge that she wished to be 
free from me sufficed to disenchant me ; I saw through 
all the shallow pretences that had ensnared me, and 
led me a captive to her slightest wish. 

“ Outwardly she was beautiful, and I had gifted her 
with all nobleness and excellence of nature ; stripped 
of my ideal attributes, she now stood before me in her 
true colors, and I loathed her more deeply than I had 
once loved her. After the first shock was over I do 
not think I suffered much on her account ; scorn 
swallowed up anguish, and a huge self-contempt that I 
had been so sweetly befooled by this heartless syren, 
overcame even my regrets for the isolation to which she 
had condemned me. I felt almost as cynical as Timon, 
but I would not suffer myself to mourn over what I 
had lost.” 

His voice suddenly sunk, and his companion saw 
that even at this distance of time it was bitter to him 
to recal those days of darkness. She broke the silence 
that ensued, by asking : 

“ Did you allow that woman to retain the property 
of which you spoke ? I should have wrested it from 
her at all hazards.” 

“ I could not do so without a lawsuit, and I made 
the settlement so secure, that the lawyers doubted my 
6 


98 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


power to undo it. I suffered her to keep it ; she dis- 
posed of it without delay, and disappeared, I did not 
care whither. It was years before I obtained a clue to 
my rival, or learned what had become of the fair 
traitress. Only then did I know how unutterably base 
she had been to retain that money. 

“ With restored health, I had but one object in view, 
and that was to accumulate the means of repaying 
those who had suffered through my culpable neglect of 
the business intrusted to me. The surgeon who at- 
tended me in my illness became my warm personal 
friend, and he espoused my cause wherever he heard 
me spoken of. He did more than this, for he was a 
man of large heart, and keen sense of justice. He saw 
that I only needed a chance to repair the disasters of 
our failure, and he used his influence to procure me a 
situation in a large mercantile establishment in China, 
of which his brother was the head. 

“ I had not a single tie to bind me to my native land, 
and I gladly accepted the exile that was offered me. I 
will lightly pass over the years I spent in that far dis- 
tant land. I brought all my industry and business tact 
to the service of a liberal chief, already prepossessed in 
my favor by the praises of his brother. M. Dumot 
advanced me rapidly, and at the end of my third year 
of service he took me into the firm as a partner. 

“ In five more years I had redeemed the obligations 
I had taken on myself, and once more the name of 
Lapierre & Son stood untarnished before the world. 

“After twelve years of drudgery I returned to 
France, rich and esteemed by those whose good opin- 
ion I cared to claim. In the interim my mother’s 
cousin had died, leaving me the title I now bear, and a 


ARMAND’S HISTORY. 


99 


few thousand francs per annum to sustain it. I tried 
the idle life of an aristocrat, but I was no longer young 
enough or gay enough to enjoy it. I gambled to pass 
away my time, lost large sums, and finding that I 
should ruin myself through sheer ennui, I gave up the 
attempt to be what neither nature nor education had 
fitted me for — a man of fashion. 

“ I went back to my old employment, and the bank- 
ing house of Latour & Co. soon took as good a position 
in the financial world as that of Lapierre had once held. 
My partner is a thorough man of business, and at the 
end of the second year, I gave the principal control of 
the firm to him, and tried to fill the vacancy in my 
heart by the excitements of travel. That wearied me ; 
in early youth I had a passion for chemistry, and it 
now revived. I had this laboratory fitted up that I 
might experiment when my steps were turned toward 
my own door, and in it I have found all the happiness 
my late years have known. 

“ I studied all the books that treat of my favorite 
science, and gradually the conviction came to my 
mind that the transmutation of metals is not an impos- 
sibility. I sought knowledge from every source, con- 
sulted either personally or by letter with all the learned 
chemists in the civilized world, and finally journeyed 
to the Orient to seek Omar Melitka, a learned Persian, 
who was said to possess occult secrets that were care- 
fully withheld from the Christian world. 

“ From him I gained the clue I had so long sought, 
and a few more experiments must make me familiar 
with the wonderful process. I shall become the bene- 
factor of my race ; the gold into which I shall convert 
the inferior metals shall be poured forth with unstinted 




100 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


hand to lift up the toiling millions of earth, and give 
to every struggling creature the means of securing a 
respectable subsistence. The working man shall be 
able to lay aside something from his labors, besides 
providing for the wants of those dependent upon him. 
Education shall be free to all classes, with such moral 
training as will lift the masses from the base position of 
mere hewers of wood and drawers of water, and they 
shall feel that they are men, responsible to God and 
their fellow-creatures for the actions of their daily lives. 
If long life is granted me, I shall accomplish much 
toward this renovation, and I shall bequeath my secret 
to those who will continue to use it only for the good of 
the human race. Too great wealth corrupts a nation, 
as all history proves, and I shall not allow my great 
discovery to become common property. It shall only 
be left in the hands of those who will know how to 
use it discreetly, and for the general good. 

“ But how can you be sure of that after you are 
gone ? ” asked Claire. “ Your dream is a very beauti- 
ful one, but it seems to me impracticable. Gold pro- 
cured at will from the baser metals, would lose its 
value as a commercial standard. Your secret is too 
wonderful to be kept concealed, and others would 
learn, and make an evil use of it. I do not pretend to 
be learned, but these objections strike me very forci- 
bly.” 

The glow his last words had brought to the cheek 
of the enthusiast died suddenly away, and after a 
pause he said : 

“ I have thought deeply of that, but when I am 
assured of success, I shall seek, and find the means of 
obviating all those difficulties. If God places such 


ARMAND’S HISTORY. 101 

power in my hands, he will show me how to use it for 
the greater benefit of his creatures.” 

Claire regarded him silently a few molnents, and 
then said : 

“ You are a rare and noble man, Armand, and I ask 
your pardon sincerely for having so long thought un- 
kindly of you. Circumstances drove me to you, or I 
should never have sought you out. Our father, who 
has passed beyond the veil, knows all now, and he 
understands how cruelly he misjudged you. If you 
had written to him after your return from China, he 
would have been reconciled to you, and have died 
happier.” 

“I did write. I sent my letter to Philadelphia, as 
that was the last place from which news from him had 
been received. It was returned to me with assurances 
that all clue to my father was lost. In the obscure val- 
ley in which he had concealed himself it was impossi- 
ble to trace him ; yet he must have had means of 
knowing that I lived — that I was the possessor of 
wealth, for he told you so, and suffered you to believe 
that I would not minister to his wants from my abun- 
dance. I think that he would never apply to me for 
aid, or make known his condition to me, because he 
could not bear to receive anything from the son whose 
life he had so insanely attempted to destroy. I sup- 
pose that he also continued to believe that Josephine 
stood as an eternal barrier to our reunion.” 

“ I do not know ; he never referred to her in the 
meagre confidence he gave to me. Let us not discuss 
his motives now, brother ; he has passed to a higher 
tribunal than that of earth, and the true and pure soul, 
in spite of all his faults, has met recognition among 
his peers.” 


102 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I believe it,” said Latour, reverently, “ and I cher- 
ish the memory of his early kindness to me with ten- 
der respect: the rest I shall bury in oblivion, and never 
speak of it again. I should not have done so now but 
to place myself in my true position before you.” 

“ That will be best, Annand. But tell me one thing 
more, before the painful past is closed. Where is your 
wife ? What has been her fate ? Your words lead me 
to believe that you are aware of it.” 

Latour arose, and walked the floor several moments. 
Suddenly pausing, in a changed voice, he rapidly said : 

“ It is your right, and you shall know even that, 
humiliating as it is to me to reveal the utter unwor- 
thiness of one I have so blindly loved. 

“For years I heard nothing of Josephine; I had 
almost ceased to think of her, when chance threw her 
on my path, in a dying condition. I told you that I 
travelled extensively, after I withdrew from active 
partnership in the bank. Toward the close of the sum- 
mer of 18 — , I was at Carlsbad, for the benefit of the 
waters. In the cottage nearest to the one I inhabited 
was an invalid lady, who was evidently in reduced cir- 
cumstances. She had with her, temporarily, an old 
woman of the village as nurse, for she could afford no 
servant of her own. 

“ In passing I often saw the pale and shadowy form 
of the invalid lying back in her large chair near the 
window, but it never occurred to me that this wasted, 
worn-out creature was the brilliant coquette who had 
won my heart only to crush it. Every vestige of the 
beauty that had enthralled me was gone : even the 
brilliant eyes that once had beamed on me with simu- 
lated tenderness had become hard, restless and repel- 


ARMAND’S HISTORY. 


103 


ling in expression. The soul within had stamped itself 
upon the features, as its repulsive elements came into 
play through the life she had led — and a hollow-eyed, 
wrinkled hag met my view when I glanced toward her 
in passing. 

44 1 turned from her with a feeling of loathing, with- 
out comprehending why this suffering creature did not 
appeal to my better feelings, as others in her condition 
always had done. I did not once dream that this 
wretched being was the idol I had once bowed blindly 
before, though some instinctive feeling caused me to 
recoil from her as from the blighting presence of some- 
thing that was fatal to me. 

44 After seeing her once I could not drive her evil 
face from me ; it haunted me like an incubus, and I 
determined to leave the place to rid myself of the dis- 
agreeable influence of that woman’s vicinity. 

4t Late on the evening before my departure old 
Gretchen, her nurse, came into my cottage and abruptly 
said : 

44 4 Madam Blondeau wishes to see you before you 
go. She can’t live many days longer, and she says you 
are an old acquaintance of hers, to whom she wishes 
to speak in private.’ 

44 1 listened to this statement in the greatest astonish- 
ment. 

4 4 4 An acquaintance of mine,’ I said ; 4 you must be 
mistaken ; I have never known a person of that name.’ 

44 4 Oh ! names don’t signify, and she may not go by 
her true one. She knows you, at any rate, for the first 
time she ever saw you pass her window she fell into a 
sort of spasm, and she has been getting worse every 
day since. Monsieur will not refuse to go to a dying 


104 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


woman who may have some message to send back by 
him to her friendf;, for Madam Blondeau is a country- 
woman of your own.’ 

“ 4 Of course I will go to her,’ I replied, 4 and will 
do all that lies in my power for one so unfortunately 
situated as this lady seems to be. You can go back 
and tell her that I will come over in half an hour.’ 

“ Gretchen left me, and I vainly tried to remember 
when and where her charge had been known to me. I 
could not place her, for not once did the suspicion 
dawn on me of the identity of that phantom with the 
woman who had deceived me. 

44 I went to the interview deeply mystified, wonder- 
ing what service would be required at my hands. 
Gretchen ushered me into the comfortless-looking 
room, and closed the door, leaving me alone with the 
invalid, who was reclining as usual, in her cushioned 
chair. The light was so placed that I could see but 
the outline of her attenuated figure as she lay back, 
panting for breath, and evidently greatly excited. 

“ I drew near her, more unmoved by her sufferings 
than I had thought it possible for me to be in the 
presence of one in her condition ; but the very atmos- 
phere she breathed seemed to repel me and stifle every 
emotion but that of curiosity to know why I had been 
summoned to her presence. She did not speak, and I 
sat down on the chair to which she motioned me, and 
said : 

44 4 You have something to say to me, I understand, 
madam. Though I cannot remember where we have 
met before, I am quite ready to comply with any 
reasonable request you may have to make of me.’ 

44 In a hollow, harsh voice, unlike the seductive 


ARMAND’S HISTORY. 105 

tones I remembered as the broken melody of my 
wrecked life, she gasped : 

44 4 Mon dieu ! he does not know me. Am I, indeed, 
so changed as that, Armand ? Has no thrilling mem- 
ory of the past come to enlighten yon as to the identity 
of the unhappy woman before you ? ’ 

44 My heart before so calm began to beat furiously ; 
I started up, grasped the lamp, and held it above her 
head, eagerly scanning the pale, pinched features. I 
cried out : 

44 4 Who are you ? — there is nothing about you that 
I recognize, yet your words point to the miserable 
traged} r of my life, and bid me-reeall its blasting mem- 
ories. Woman! are you all that is left of the Circe 
that enthralled but to betray me? Yet that is impos- 
sible.’ 

44 She held up her hand, on which glittered a curious 
ring set with a carbuncle cut in the shape of a heart, 
and surrounded by points of gold, in each one of which 
gleamed a tiny ruby. I had given that bauble to 
Josephine before our union, and she retained it, as she 
did all the costly presents I had made her. By that 
token alone I knew her, and I staggered from her side 
like a man smitten by lightning, and replaced the lamp 
with a crash upon the table from which I had taken it. 

44 Oh, the unutterable horror of that moment ! I 
can never put it in words, nor will I attempt to do so. 
I felt faint and sick, and my first impulse was to rush 
from the room ; but she grasped my arm with her talon- 
like hand, and held me in a clutch like that of death 
itself. She hoarsely said : 

44 4 You know' me now, and should comprehend why 
I must speak with you before I die.’ 


106 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I desperately said : 

“‘I wish to hear nothing from you. You were once 
the curse of my life, but I have cast from me the 
memory of the past you wish to evoke. I will not 
stay to hear such confession as you may wish to make. 
It is of no interest to me. Die as you have so long lived, 
uncared for by me — less than nothing to me.’ 

44 In a cold tone, she replied : 

44 4 1 expected nothing more from you than scorn and 
aversion. They do not wound me, for I never loved 
you. I did not send for you to speak of myself, but 
of the man who so cleverly compassed your ruin and 
secured the wealth for which your father had so long 
labored. Have you no desire to know whither Bellair 
went ? by what means he evaded those set upon his 
track ? I can tell you that and also enlighten you as 
to another wrong from him that, through all these 
years, you have not suspected.’ 

44 1 paused at those words, and said : 

44 4 If you can tell me that, I will listen to you — 
odious as your presence is to me. Where is Bellair 
now ? What has become of him ? ’ 

44 With a ghastly sneer, she said : 

44 4 1 thought I could interest you before we parted. 
You never suspected that he had made ardent love to 
me, from the day you first brought him to my aunt’s 
house ; but he did, and I preferred him to you. I 
stifled my preference, for he was not rich, and you 
were, or I believed you to be. I knew that your father 
vehemently opposed our union ; and fearful of losing 
the prize I thought I had won, I foolishly consented to 
a private marriage. 

44 4 Bellair came to me, a few days afterward, and 


A R M A ND’S H ISTORY. 


107 


showing me the ruin that was impending over you, 
entreated me to break with you. He did not tell me 
that he intended to become the agent of that ruin, or 
how it was to be effected, but he implored me to free 
myself from you and consent to fly with him to some 
distant land in which we would dwell together in 
luxury. He said that wealth had recently fallen to 
him which would realize my wildest dreams of splen- 
dor. 

“ 4 When I told him of the tie that existed between 
us, I thought he would have gone mad with jealous 
fury. Bellair was older than I by many years, yet I 
loved him even as he loved me, and I pledged myself 
to go at his summons and leave the impoverished dupe, 
who would then have nothing more to bestow upon 
me. 

“ ‘ Bellair assured me that he had large sums securely 
invested in the United States, and I should reign there 
as a queen in society, with every wish of my vain heart- 
gratified to the utmost extent of his fortune. I agreed 
to all he proposed, for a life passed in poverty with 
you had no charms for me ; but With him — ah ! it was 
joy, happiness unutterable to think of the free, untram- 
meled future that opened before me shared with the 
man of my heart. 

“ ‘ I cared not how his wealth had been obtained, 
provided I shared it with him. You know what 
followed. The divorce I asked was granted ; the small 
estate you had given me I was allowed to retain, and 
the proceeds of its sale I carried with me to swell the 
hordes I then knew that my lover had secured from 
the same coffers. Do you know why I was guilty of 
that crowning baseness, Armand Latour?’ 


108 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I was too much stunned by this revelation to make 
any reply, and Josephine vindictively went on : 

44 4 That was my vengeance upon your father for his 
insulting objections to our union. I meant to ruin him 
utterly and hopelessly ; as to you, you had youth and 
energy — you could reinstate yourself in time, — but to 
him the blow was final.’ 

44 1 found voice to ask : 

44 4 Whither did you go ? Where did Bellair conceal 
himself till you joined him ? ’ 

44 4 He went to Louisiana, where French society was 
to be found. There, under the assumed name of Blon- 
deau, he purchased, a fine plantation on the coast 
above New Orleans, which was highly improved. 
When I joined him six months later, I found him 
thoroughly settled and everything in readiness for 
my reception. We were married in the cathedral in 
New Orleans, and I went to the home he had prepared 
for me. 

44 4 For several years afterward we led a life well 
suited to me. We spent the winters in New Orleans, 
the spring and later part of autumn on our beautiful 
place, and the summers in traveling through the 
Northern States, scattering money as if it had been 
dross. I was admired, copied, and my wit quoted 
wherever I appeared. 

44 4 For a few years I was happy, for I felt no remorse 
for the past and had no misgivings as to the future. I 
think I was born without a conscience, for even now, 
fallen as I am, I cannot regret the golden years pur- 
chased by my treachery to you. I led the gay and 
brilliant life for which I had always pined, and why 
should I regret the price paid for it by two men, one 


ARMAND’S HISTORY. 


109 


of whom had insulted me, and the other utterly indif- 
ferent to me ? I did not send for you to prove to you 
that I have repented, for if it were to do over again, 
I should take the same course.’ 

44 I sternly asked : 

“ 4 For what purpose then have you summoned me 
hither? I could well have gone to my grave without 
hearing this revelation, and it was by no means neces- 
sary for you to exhibit to me any new proofs of your 
baseness. I have long comprehended that, and cast 
you down into the depths of contempt so utterly that 
no vestige of my old madness remains. You have been 
scarcely a memory to me for years past.’ 

44 With a sneer she said : 

44 4 Yet you have never married again. Why was 
that, if I held no power over you ? ’ 

44 4 1 have had little time to think of women,’ I coldly 
replied. 4 For years my life was devoted to the duty I 
felt to be imperative upon me. The stolen money 
you revelled on I labored to repay, that no stain might 
rest upon the honored name of the parent I had been 
the cause of ruining. Then, my own fortune was to 
make ; since that was accomplished I have found 
contentment in travel and the resources of my own 
mind. With my experience of one woman, I was not 
likely to shackle myself with any other. But what 
has brought you here alone, and evidently impover- 
ished ? ’ 

44 4 So you wish to hear the end of that glittering 
career ? — to trace the steps by which I have fallen so 
low as to compel me to make an appeal to you, — but 
of that presently. 

44 4 My husband fras a gambler at heart. He not 


110 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


only risked and lost large sums at cards, but he specu- 
lated wildly in the hope that the ruin he was bringing 
on himself might be averted. His schemes of aggran- 
dizement only hastened his downfall, but we kept up 
our extravagant style of living for many years before 
the final crash came. Then he committed suicide, 
leaving me to bear what he had thus escaped from as 
I best could. 

“ ‘ The dissipated life I had led had told on my 
beauty; I found myself widowed, old in appearance, 
and nearly penniless. A few thousand dollars were 
saved for me from the wreck of the estate, and I 
came back to Europe in search of the health I had 
lost. For five years I have wandered over this conti- 
nent alone. My means have gradually dwindled down 
till I am nearly penniless. I am dying, as you see, 
and the small sum I have left will not pay the debts 
I have incurred here. This bauble might suffice to 
bury me, for it is curious and valuable. I sent for you 
to see if you would purchase it back, and thus afford 
me the means of a decent funeral.’ 

“ She took from her thin finger the engagement 
ring I had placed there so long ago, held it toward me, 
and with a hollow sneer went on : 

“ 4 It was a strange fancy to select a thing like this 
for a gage d' amour. The rubies on the points are like 
drops of blood, and I have often thought how true an 
enblem they are of the anguish I have brought to you. 
A heart weeping blood — a curious choice indeed for an 
engagement ring.’ 

“ Her voice sounded to me mocking and hard. I 
snatched the gem, threw it upon the floor, and ground 
it to powder beneath the heel of my boot. Then turn- 
ing to her, I said : 


ARMAND’S HISTORY. HI 

“ 4 1 understand now why I have been sent for. You 
knew that I would not leave the woman who once bore 
m 3 ' name to be buried as a pauper, utterly unworthy 
as }'ou are. But I will not give money to you . I will 
see the landlord and make arrangements to settle for 
what }^ou may need, and to pay the expenses of a 
quiet funeral when } r ou are dead. Now I will go, 
since I have no further business/ 

44 Josephine calmly replied : 

44 4 That is all I require. Let me be comfortable as 
long as I live — that is all I ask now/ 

44 As I turned away I said : 

44 4 1 will send a priest to you, for you are not fit to 
die and go before your Maker in your present state of 
mind/ 

44 With a hollow, mocking laugh she said : 

44 4 It is too late for repentance, now. My life has 
been given to the pursuit of pleasure, and God will not 
take the lees when the sparkling draught has been 
drained to the dregs without a thought of Him or 
his requirements. Besides, in Heaven I should not 
meet my twin soul, my love, my tempter. In some 
lower abode prepared for such as he and I, will I join 
him and bear with him the penalty of our joint sins. 
Farewell, Armand ; I do not ask your forgiveness, for 
I know it would be vain to do so/ 

44 1 fled from the room and closed the door after me. 
I will not attempt to describe to you the whirl of feel- 
ing in which the hours of that long night were passed. 
I did not leave Carlsbad with the dawn, as I intended, 
for I was too ill in mind and body to travel. 

44 For three daj's I remained in my room, and every 
evening Gretchen came, unbidden, to let me know 


112 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


how rapidly her charge was sinking. I would have 
got away if I could, but some horrible spell seemed to 
bind me to the spot. I sent for the landlord and set- 
tled with him what was to be done for the comfort of 
the sick woman, and everything she needed was pro- 
vided for at my expense. 

“ Josephine died as she had lived, unpenitent, cal- 
lous as to the future. She refused to see the priest I 
persisted in sending to her ; but I consoled myself 
with the thought that I had done my duty by her, 
terribly as I had suffered at her hands. 

“ On the third day after our interview she passed 
away ; and I remained till the grave closed over her, 
though I did not follow her to it.” 

Latour sat down as if exhausted by this painful 
recital, and it was several moments before either spoke. 
Claire then said : 

“ Let us never refer to that dreadful woman again, 
Armand. I am glad that you have told me about her, 
for your conduct to her proves to me that you have 
been true to yourself through all your trials. Oh, how 
much I wish that I was more like you, but our natures 
are different. You returned good for evil, while I — I 
think of nothing but paying back wrong for wrong.” 

Latour gently replied : 

“ My dear Claire, I will try to make you happy in 
your new sphere, and that will take the sting from the 
past. The wrong you have suffered was great, but 
you can put even that aside, and in time almost forget 
it. A worthless man should not have the power to 
darken your whole life.” 

“ That may be true, but what have I to occupy me 
till oblivion comes to all sorrow in the grave. You 


GETTING THINGS SETTLED. 


113 


have partially won it through constant and arduous 
labor, but for me there is no such resource. Only in 
the pursuit of fashion and frivolity can I hope to bury 
the memory of the past, and the thought of that 
wretched Josephine almost disgusts me with that 
resource.” 

At this allusion to his wdfe, Latour shuddered, and 
rising, abruptly said : 

“It grows late, let us go down ; by this time Zo- 
lande has prepared your chamber for you, and you can 
take possession of it. Never utter that name in my 
presence again, Claire. The sound of it is a horror to 
me. The remembrance of that last scene at Carlsbad 
will haunt me as a terrible nightmare as long as I live, 
but I would not have it recalled to me by word or 
sign from one I love, as I know I shall love you.” 

“ I will never breathe her name, again, Armand. 
Thank you for the confidence you have given me, for 
it has taught me how worthy of affectionate reverence 
you are.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

GETTING THINGS SETTLED. 

T HE brother and sister descended the winding stairs, 
and regained the more modern portion of the 
building. 

A luxuriously appointed sleeping-room opened from 
the saloon, and the door was thrown back, revealing 
the unusual luxury of a carpet of a delicate white 
1 


114 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


ground, sprinkled over with bouquets of brilliant 
flowers. A carved table in the centre of the floor 
supported a lamp of antique fashion, in which burned 
perfumed oil. Beside it was a tray on which was 
fruit, wine, and light, crisp biscuit. 

Lace curtains, richly embroidered, floated from the 
open windows, and in an alcove was a bed draped with 
snowy linen. A damask covered sofa was between the 
windows, and a carved armoire with oval mirrors set 
in the doors, occupied a recess similar to that in which 
the bed stood. A dressing-stand, and several lounging 
chairs of different shapes completed the furnishing of 
this charming apartment. Latour led his sister for- 
ward, and said : 

“ This is yours as long as you choose to occupy it, 
Claire. It communicates with the smoking room, and 
to-morrow, if you wish it, that shall be converted into 
a boudoir for the reception of such visitors as you may 
wish to receive.” 

“ Dear brother, you are too good. How shall I ever 
repay you for what you are so ready to do for me ? I 
cannot consent to turn you out of yo N ur own sanctum.” 

“ I prefer the tower room to any in the house, and I 
seldom remain long in any other when I am here. As 
to repaying, Claire, it is I who must do that to you. I 
have transferred to you the heavy debt I owed my 
father, which should so long ago have been settled. 
Only love me a little, my sister ; that is all the return 
I shall ask. Let me make your path bright and easy 
to travel, and I shall feel as if the toil of my life had 
not been in vain. My wealth, beyond the leisure it 
affords me to follow my own pursuits, and the power it 
gives me to aid others, is of little value to me. In the 


GETTING THINGS SETTLED. 


115 


excitement of accumulating it, I could bury the past, 
but once won, I found it powerless to purchase forget- 
fulness or happiness. Accept all I may lavish on you 
as your right, and say nothing of gratitude. I do not 
care to receive any other return than to see you enjoy 
the luxury it will be my greatest pleasure to afford 
you.” 

Claire threw herself upon his breast, and, for the 
first time, caressed him fondly. Latour gravely re- 
turned the kisses she lavished on him, and smiling 
faintly, said : 

u It is so long since a woman’s arms encircled my 
neck, that I scarcely know how to comport myself 
under such novel circumstances. Here is wine ; let 
me drink to you, my fair chatelaine, with the hope 
that here you will find peace and perfect content.” 

He filled two small goblets with the clear, sparkling 
liquid, and gracefully offering one to Claire, clinked 
the edge of his own against it. 

“If I do not, it will be my own fault,” cried Claire, 
“ I am not fond of wine, but I will drink this in honor 
of the gentle and true heart that prompted your 
words.” 

When they had replaced the goblets, Latour said : 

“ I will send Zolande to you to act as your attendant, 
but to-morrow I will see that a more suitable maid is 
provided for you. You must sleep sweetly to-night, 
for at an early hour of the morning we must go together 
to Mrs. Courtnay, and let her see that you have fallen 
into better hands than either she or you hoped.” 

“ Yes, I shall sleep, I know, although I have passed 
through so much excitement in the last hours. Fate 
is kind to send me so charming a home, just as the one 


116 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


I have lately shared must have been closed to me. 
Good night, brother ; put aside all sad memories, and 
welcome the new era that dawns for us both from this 
hour.” 

“I will make an effort to do so, Claire. Dream 
pleasant dreams, my fair sister, and feel assured that 
if it is within the compass of my ability to realize them, 
I will do so.” 

“Thanks. I believe you will prove better than a 
fairy -godmother to me,” was the laughing rejoinder, 
and Latour left the room. 

Zolande presently came in full of curiosity as to the 
past life of her young mistress, but Claire was not dis- 
posed to gratify it. She briefly gave such facts as it 
was well for her brother’s household to know, and dis- 
missed the inquisitive old woman as soon as possible, 
that she might think over alone the strange events of 
the afternoon. 

She felt toward her brother as if she had known him 
all her life, for his resemblance to her father was so 
great that it took all sense of strangeness from him. 
Claire deeply regretted that those two should have so 
misunderstood each other, and she sighed as she thought 
it was the same spirit of retaliation which ruled her- 
self that had so long kept them apart. Bitter and re- 
sentful natures they all had, then why should she be 
held accountable for the tenacity with which she cher- 
ished her own scheme of retribution ? was the question 
she asked herself. 

Claire gazed long and earnestly upon the image re- 
flected in the large mirror before which she sat, won- 
dering if that brilliant face could ever fade ; that gay 
youthfulness of aspect lose its charm, for it seems very 


GETTING THINGS SETTLED. 


117 


difficult to the young to realize that the passage of a 
few fleeting years must rob them of that which is so 
precious to themselves, so attractive to others. 

A bright smile gradually crept over the sober thought- 
fulness of her face, as she observed for the first time 
the quaint night-robes in which Zolande had dressed 
her. As she had none of her own with her, the old 
woman had drawn on her own stores, and a short full 
gown, made of some striped material of brilliant colors, 
and a stiffly -starched cap with a high crown, made her 
look like a young French peasant. 

Claire laughed as she threw aside the latter, hurried- 
ly said over her prayers, and sprang into the elastic 
bed. Phj^sically worn out with the excitement through 
which she had passed, she fell almost immediately into 
a deep sleep, which lasted till long after the sun had 
risen. 

At eight o’clock Zolande came in to see if she was 
awake, and offered her services to assist at her toilette. 
But Claire desired her to return to her household duties, 
declaring that she needed no attendant and was ac- 
customed to wait upon herself. 

When she entered the breakfast room she found her 
brother waiting to receive her, and after the morning 
saluations he said : 

“ I am glad to have tangible evidence that all that 
passed last night was not a dream. Away from you, 
Claire, I find it difficult to realize that I have a charm- 
ing sister, young enough to be my daughter, who will 
give an interest to my lonely life which it long has 
wanted.” 

Claire smilingly replied : 

“ I am glad that you like me, Armand. I intend to 


118 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


render myself necessary to you in the future, and I 
think we can be very happy together.” 

Zolande came in, bringing her waiter, and an exqui- 
site little breakfast was soon served in a style of luxury 
with which the young chatelaine was enchanted. Fresh 
flowers adorned the table, and most tempting fruits in 
silver baskets lined with fresh leaves and moss, were 
placed among the more substantial edibles. Coffee of 
most delicious aroma was poured into porcelain cups, 
and Claire sipped hers, declaring it was far better than 
nectar : delicate French rolls and rice cakes, with game, 
perfectly prepared, completed the repast. 

“I declare, brother, you are a perfect sybarite,” 
she laughingly declared, as she arose from the table. 
“ Who would have expected to find such a menage in 
this dilapidated looking tower ? ” 

I believe I understand comfort, a thing the English 
declare peculiar to themselves,” said Latour. “ I so- 
journed long enough in perjide Albion, as my country- 
men are fond of calling it, to learn something from its 
people, which I have since turned to advantage. La- 
tour is almost a ruin, as you say, but now that I have 
somebody to plan and decorate for, I shall send work- 
men hither to renovate the old place, but that shall not 
be done till you take possession of my town house and 
queen it there. I have ordered the carriage, and we 
had better go in to visit Mrs. Courtnay as soon as possi- 
ble. She must be uneasy about you, though I sent a 
note in to her last night explaining, as well as I could, 
what had happened to throw you under my protection 
in so unexpected a manner.” 

“ That was very kind and thoughtful of you, Ar- 
mand, and I thank you for it with all my heart. I can 


GETTING TEtlNGS SETTLED. 


119 


be ready to set out in a few moments, and I am most 
impatient to present you to mamma, and tell her how 
much at home I feel with you already.” 

Claire went to her room, and in a few moments re- 
turned equipped for the drive. 

A handsome English bafouche was drawn up in front 
of the entrance, to which was harnessed a pair of 
magnificent bays ; a footman in livery stood at their 
heads, while M. Latour handed in his sister, and placed 
himself beside her. He took the reins himself, and in 
a few moments they were whirling rapidly toward 
Paris. 

The morning was deliciously clear and soft, and 
Claire found her brother a most agreeable companion. 
In less than an hour she found herself at Mrs. Court- 
nay’s lodgings, and Julia came flying to the door to 
welcome her, exclaiming : 

“ I have been watching for you all the morning. 
Oh ! Claire, how could you stay away all night ? 
Mamma had a long talk with Andrew when he came 
back without you, but she told me nothing but that 
you had found your brother.” 

“ Andrew is here, then,” said Claire, glad to find 
that he had performed his promise to return and ex- 
plain to his mother what had occurred. 

“ Yes — he is here, but I have not seen him. He has 
shut himself up in his room, and will not let me in. 
This is M. Latour, I suppose. He is very nice-looking, 
but I shan’t like him if he takes you away from us.” 

With his winning smile Latour held out his hand to 
the little girl, and said : 

“ I mean to make you like me, petite , even if I do 
rob you of your friend, Claire. She belongs to me, you 


120 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


know, but I do not intend to ask her to give up her old 
loves -entirely. You and your mother shall come to me 
and we will have a good time together before we talk 
of parting.” 

With the frank confidence of childhood, Julia gave 
him her hand, and led him foward the reception room, 
but he contrived to detain her a few moments on the 
way, while Claire flitted past them and sought Mrs. 
Courtnay. 

She found her looking extremely pale, but perfectly 
composed after the severe trial through which she had 
passed. 

She faintly said : 

44 Thank Heaven, you are safe, my child ! but I 
tremble to think what the result might have been if 
that madman had carried out his treacherous plans. 
He came back to me, told me all, and implored my for- 
giveness. But oh, Claire, it was a terrible blow to me 
to discover that he had so long and systematically de- 
ceived me.” 

44 Think no more of it, dearest mamma. Andrew 
knows now that, under no possible contingency, would 
I become his wife, and that will work a complete cure 
sooner than anything else. It was most fortunate that 
he did not know to whose grounds the cottage he took 
me to belonged, or I might have been compelled to go 
with him on the tour he had planned. But even in that 
case I should have brought him back to you before very 
long, with his illusion dispelled, and ready to let me 
go on my own terms.” 

Mrs. Courtnay sighed heavily. 

44 1 think he understands, at last, that there can 
be no hope for him. I shall get him back to Virginia 


GETTING THINGS SETTLED. 


121 


as soon as possible ; it is the best thing I can do to 
remove him as far as possible from you. But where 
is M. Latour ? He came in with you I suppose ? ” 

“ Yes ; he lingered in the hall with Julia a few mo- 
ments, to allow me to speak with you before present- 
ing himself. Oh, mamma, Armand is good and noble, 
and it was most unfortunate that he and my father did 
not better understand each other. He has explained 
all that to me entirely to my satisfaction : you will like 
him, and do justice to him when you know him, I am 
sure.” 

The door was thrown open, and M. Latour entered, 
followed by Julia. He advanced and took the extend- 
ed hand of Mrs. Courtnay with a grace and empresse- 
ment of manner that impressed her very favorably. 
He bowed deferentially, as he said : 

“ I do not require an introduction to the friend of 
my father and the maternal protectress of my sister. 
Mrs. Courtnay, I can never sufficiently thank you for 
all your past kindness to those I would gladly have 
aided myself, if I had been permitted to do so.” 

“ Now that I see you face to face, M. Latour, I can- 
not doubt that,” she replied. “ You are so strikingly 
like your father in person, that I feel assured you must 
possess the same honorable traits of mind and heart. 
Claire tells me that all has been explained between 
you, and I accept her assurance that all is as it should 
be. You owe me nothing, I assure you ; for the assis- 
tance 3'our father rendered me in many ways, after my 
husband’s death, more than repaid me for the little he 
would accept at my hands. To care for his child as he 
had cared for mine was a sacred duty which I have 
found much pleasure in fulfilling. If that had not 


122 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


been so, the service you rendered me yesterday after- 
noon, in saving my son from an act which he must bit- 
terly have repented, would more than repay me for all 
I have done.” 

“ It was fortunate that I returned home just at this 
crisis,” Latour briefly replied ; “ so let us say no more 
on that painful subject.” 

“ I received your note last night, and I was pleased 
with the thoughtful kindness which induced you to 
send it. I was not quite reassured concerning Claire 
till I read it, for Andrew was not in a condition to give 
a very clear account of what had taken place. He is, 
however, calmer this morning, and I hope, in a fair 
way to regain his sober senses.” 

“ I am glad to hear that. It was a youthful folly, 
which must be forgiven in consideration of the temp- 
tation constantly before Mr. Courtnay. I will in future 
relieve you from all care on my sister’s account, by 
taking her under my own protection, and thus re- 
move her from the vicinity of your son. Absence will 
soon complete his cure, for a man rarely clings to one 
who showed such anxiety to escape from him, as Claire 
did yesterday evening, when I came upon them in so 
unexpected a manner.” 

Julia drew near to Claire, and anxiously whispered : 

“ What did Andrew do ? I think I ought to know 
too.” 

“Well, pet, if you will be very prudent and say 
nothing about it, I will tell you,” replied Claire, in the 
same tone. 

“ I declare I’ll never say one word, but I’m dying to 
know all about it.” 

“ It would be a pity to let you die, so I will tell you 
that Andrew wanted me to marry him — that was all.” 


GETTING THINGS SETTLED. 


123 


“ Well, why wouldn’t you ? I’m sure I would rath- 
er have you for my sister than Cousin Emma. Besides, 
I heard somebody say that cousins ought not to 
marry.” 

“ But your brother is engaged to Emma, and he 
must keep his pledges. She is only a distant cousin, 
and not so near related as to make the match objec- 
tionable. I can’t marry him, because I do not love 
him well enough.” 

“ I think you might, "when you know how much we 
all think of you. But I suppose you had rather stay 
here with that fine brother of yours, and have every- 
thing your own way. Andrew wouldn’t let you have 
that , for he makes me do just as he pleases.” 

While this whispered colloquy was carried on, Mrs. 
Courtnay and her guest were engaged in earnest con- 
versation, on which Claire was unwilling to intrude, so 
she lured Julia to a distant window and watched the 
passers-by till her brother recalled her to his side. 

M. Latour then said : 

“ I have been urging Mrs. Courtnay to give up her 
lodgings in town and spend the remainder of her time 
in France at Latour with us. She tells me that her son 
intends to set out for Baden this evening, to spend 
the rest of the season there. Under those circumstan- 
ces, I can see no reason why she shall not be our guest. 
Join your entreaties with mine, Claire, to induce her 
to consent.” 

Claire turned eagerly to her friend, and exclaimed : 

“ Dear mamma, when you know how happy such a 
visit will make me, I know you will come. My 
brother could have thought of nothing that will afford 
me so much pleasure as to have you and Julia with me 


124 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


in my own home. You cannot say no, for I feel that 
I have the right to claim you.” 

With a smile, Mrs. Courtnay replied : 

44 You have no cause to urge your claims so vehe- 
mently, my dear, for I shall be as happy to see you in 
your new sphere as you can be to have me with you. 
But Julia’s masters attend her daily, and in the brief 
• time I shall remain, I wish her to profit by their in- 
structions as much as possible. How then can I 
remove to the country? ” 

44 Latour is but a few miles from the city, and I will 
promise to bring Mademoiselle Julia in every day to 
my town house to receive her masters,” said Latour. 
44 It is really too warm to linger in Paris at this season 
of the year, and if I were permitted to offer my advice, 
I should say that fresh air and exercise will be better 
for your daughter, madam, than confinement to study. 
She has time enough before her, without burdening 
her with accomplishments just now.” 

Julia grasped his hand, and warmly pressed it. 

44 What a dear, good man you are, M. Latour, to 
petition for freedom for me a little while. I am dying 
for a romp upon the grass and a good run under the 
trees. You don’t know what a weary wilderness of 
brick and mortar this great city is to me. I go to the 
boulevards and parks, but they are filled with people, 
and they are not like the country I have been used to. 
Oh, mamma, if you will only let me put books aside 
for the next few weeks, and stay with Claire, I shall 
be the happiest girl alive.” 

44 Do you really feel as if you need relaxation, Julia ? 
You have not complained of being overtaxed, or I 
should have permitted you to lay aside your studies 


GETTING THINGS SETTLED. 


125 


during the warm weather. Anxious as I am for your 
improvement, your health is of far more importance to 
me.” 

J ulia laughed gleefully. 

u I am not going to be ill, mamma, so have no fears 
on my account. I am only tired and stupid ; the holi- 
day M. Latour proposes to give me will quite set me 
up, and give me new energy to pursue my studies 
when I commence them again. I know that you can- 
not stay here after Claire and Andrew have both left 
us, with nobody but me for a companion ; so be a dear, 
sweet mother, and say yes at once.” 

Mrs. Courtnay smiled, and said : 

“ With three against me, of course there is no alter- 
native but to yield as gracefully as possible. I accept 
your invitation very willingly, I assure you, M. Latour ; 
before I leave my adopted child, I wish to see her 
settled in her new home, and become well acquainted 
with the protector to whose care I must surrender her.” 

“ Thank you, dear madam, for so kindly acceding 
to my request. I will now leave my sister with you a 
few hours, while I call at the banking house and at- 
tend to some other business that claims my care. 
During my long absence my town residence has been 
closed, but now that I have a fair mistress to preside 
over it, I must give orders to have it thoroughly refit- 
ted in a style of elegance commensurate with the im- 
portance to me of the lady who is to reign over it. If 
I can induce you to spend the coming winter with 
Claire, I shall be very glad, for she is too young and 
attractive to be launched in the gay world without a 
maternal adviser near her.” 

Mrs. Courtnay shook her head. 


126 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I scarcely think that I can delay my departure so 
long, deeply as I am interested in Claire’s future.” 

“ We will leave the question open for future discus- 
sion,” said Latour, bowing over her hand, “ and I will 
not despair of yet inducing you to prolong your resi- 
dence in France. Au revoir , madame.” 

“ Return in time to take luncheon with us, monsieur, 
and then we can settle our plans.” 

“ Thanks ! I will do so, and reclaim my treasure- 
trove, for I cannot part from Claire so soon after find- 
ing her.” 

Latour left the room, and Mrs. Courtnay turned to 
Claire, and said : 

“ Your brother is a sad-looking man, but a most 
interesting one, my dear. If, without violating confi- 
dence, you can explain to me the cause of his estrange- 
ment from your father, I shall be glad to know it.” 

“ I will tell you his painful story, mamma, for I 
think it but justice to Armand to do so. He did not 
prohibit me from repeating to you what he related to 
me, and I am sure he wishes you to understand that 
he was not entirely to blame. If my poor father 
would only have written to him, all could have been 
set right between them, but in this world people sel- 
dom understand each other.” 

“ Come with me to my room, and do you go to the 
piano, Julia. Your music master will soon be here, 
and you must be ready to receive him.” 

Very reluctantly was this command obeyed, for 
Julia had the curiosity of a child of her years, and she 
was most eager to know all that could be told her of 
her new friend. 

On entering her apartment, Mrs. Courtnay said to 
her companion : 


GETTING THINGS SETTLED. 


127 


“ Remain here a few moments, my dear, while I go 
to Andrew and tell him that you are here. He is most 
anxious to see you alone a few moments, that he may 
implore pardon for the outrage of which he has been 
guilty. I will return to you presently, and while you 
give me the history you have promised, Andrew can 
prepare himself for the interview I have guaranteed 
shall be granted him. You will not refuse this last 
request from my poor penitent boy, I hope ? ” 

“ No ; I could refuse nothing asked of me by you, 
mamma, and I wish to see Andrew once more before 
we finally part. Say as much to him from me, if you 
please.” 

Mrs. Courtnay crossed the hall, and entered the 
apartment of her son. Andrew was lying back in a 
large fauteuil, looking as wan as if he had passed 
through a violent fit of illness. Dark circles were 
around his eyes, and an expression of languor per- 
vaded his whole person. 

Courtnay had passed through a terrible night, and 
he felt utterly subdued by the struggle — which, to 
him, had been darker than the passage from life to 
death. He understood, for the first time, how impos- 
sible it was for Claire ever to be more to him than she 
now was ; he felt that he had sinned against her almost 
beyond forgiveness, and he had nothing to plead in 
his own defence but the overwhelming passion with 
which she had inspired him. Yet he could not leave 
without seeing her once more, and saying in person 
what he had resolved should be spoken before they 
parted, perhaps, forever. He meant to atone in some 
way for the violence of which he had been guilty, and 
in time, at least, reclaim the respect of the idol he so 
madly worshipped. 


128 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Andrew listlessly looked up when liis mother en- 
tered, and asked : 

41 Have you concluded that it will be best for me to 
go away at once, mother ? I cannot stay here. If I 
do, you will be forced to place me in a lunatic asylum 
before many days are over.” 

His mother sat down by him, and taking his passive 
hand in hers, gently said : 

44 I have maturely considered all you said to me last 
night, my son, and reluctant as I am to part from you 
just now, I have concluded that it will be best to seek 
diversion to your thoughts in new scenes. Yet I 
scarcely think Baden a safe place for you to visit in 
your present frame of mind. To a young man like 
yourself there are many temptations to be found 
there.” 

44 1 know what you refer to, mother, but the gaming 
table offers no attractions to me. If I resort to it, it 
will only be for the purpose of watching the play of 
others without taking part in it myself. You may 
trust me that far, I assure you. I am not reckless, as 
you may imagine from what has lately taken place. I 
threw my all upon a single chance in the game I have 
played, and lost, and all others seem stale and flat 
beside it. I have reflected deeply in the last few 
hours ; and I am no longer a dreaming boy, but a man 
of strong impulse and resolute will. I know how 
fondly your heart is set on me, and I pledge you my 
honor that henceforth I will be a dutiful son and 
strive to be faithful to the responsibilities laid on me 
by the position I occupy in life. Never again shall 
you have cause to blush for me.” 

Mrs. Courtnay tenderly embraced him, kissed his 
pale brow, and said : 


GETTING THINGS SETTLED. 129 

“ I can and will trust you, Andrew, for, until this 
temptation assailed you, you were never guilty of a 
falsehood in your life. It has been said that such a 
disappointment as you have met with gives strength 
and development to a man’s mind, and in your case I 
trust it may prove true. I shall look to your future 
career, Andrew, to compensate me for the uneasiness 
you have made me suffer on your account, and I feel 
sure that now this delusion is ended, your course will 
be upward and onward in the career I wish you to 
pursue.” 

The listener sighed wearily, but he firmly replied : 

“ It shall be, I pledge you my word, mother. In 
the rewards won by ambitious striving, I may regain 
the peace and self-respect I have lost, and I will labor 
to attain them. I comprehend now, though in my 
blind selfishness I did not before, how terrible was the 
fate to which I would have chained Claire in compel- 
ing her to become mine against her will. Have you 
heard from her yet ? ” 

“ I came hither to tell you that she is here. M. 
Latour has also called, but he has gone out into the 
city, leaving Claire with me for a few hours. He 
insists that J ulia and I shall spend some time at his 
chateau, and as you will leave for Baden, I accepted 
his invitation. He seems a clever and amiable man.” 

After a pause, Andrew said : 

“ Of course you could not refuse when he asked you 
to visit Claire. It will be pleasanter for you there 
than in the city at this season, and — and I wish you to 
study M. Latour and judge if he is worthy to assume 
the charge of his sister. She must always be an 
8 


130 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


object of deep interest to me, although she will not 
consent to love me.” 

“ I shall do so for my own satisfaction, you may be 
sure. He has convinced Claire that he was not 
entirely to blame in his course toward his father, and 
she has promised to explain to me as much as is neces- 
sary to exonerate him. He resembles M. Lapierre so 
strongly, that it is difficult to believe he can be a mean 
or dishonorable man.” 

“ I hope your judgment of him is correct, mother, 
for I should be most reluctant to see Claire surrendered 
to the protection of a man in whom entire confidence 
cannot be placed. Have you told her that I wish to 
see her once more ? ” 

“ Yes — and she has consented to grant you the 
interview ; you will do or say nothing to make her 
regret this concession, I hope, Andrew.” 

He laid his hand on hers and said : 

“ Feel how cool my pulses are, and have no fears of 
violence now. I have exhausted that phase of my 
nature, I believe, in the bitter humiliation of the last 
eighteen hours. It is ‘repentance that needeth not to 
be repented of,’ I am sure. I have deeply sinned 
against her, but for your sake Claire will accord me 
her forgiveness. In half an hour I will go to the salon ; 
you can send her to me there, and leave us alone a few 
moments ; all I have to say can soon be spoken.” 

“ I will do so, and now I will leave you to compose 
yourself for the meeting.” 

“Yes — and the parting, for it will be our last 
encounter on earth.” 

Mrs. Courtnay went out of the room, and closed the 
door behind her with a feeling of thankfulness that 


GETTING THINGS SETTLED. 131 

her son was restored to her, even through such sharp 
discipline as he had borne. 

When she rejoined Claire, the latter gave her an 
outline of the story her brother had related to 
her, to which her friend listened with the deepest 
interest. At its close she said : 

“ It was most unfortunate that your father broke off 
all communication with his native land, or he must 
have heard of the efforts made by M. Latour to retrieve 
his family name and honor. What you have told me 
proves to me that your brother is as high-toned a man 
as his father was, and I no longer fear to leave you 
under his guardianship. I was very agreeably im- 
pressed with his appearance and manners, and I 
believe if you do not perversely mar your own fate, it 
may be a very happy one.” 

“I thank you, mamma, in Armand’s name for your 
estimate of him ; as to myself, the least said the better. 

I intend to be a brilliant star in the new firmament in 
which I am going to shine, and if I can find happiness 
in gayety and excitement I may try to forget the blight 
that has fallen on me ; but I promise nothing. I 
believe that my destiny is written, and I cannot change^ 
it.” 

“‘We make our own path and throw our own shadow 
on it,’ has truly been said,” replied Mrs. Courtnay. 

“ But as you told me once before, Claire, preaching is 
useless. I will leave you to the influence of a good 
man who will give you so much to be thankful for, 
that the root of bitterness will be extracted from your 
heart, and in time the fatal fantas}^ that now darkens 
your mind, be laid aside. By this time Andrew is 
awaiting you in the salon. Be gentle and forgiving 


132 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


with him, Claire, for he has suffered deeply in the last 
few hours, and he is thoroughly penitent for the 
violence of his conduct.'” 

Claire arose at once and said : 

“I will go to him, and tell him how heartily I 
forgive him, since I was rescued from him in time to 
evade the terrible fate he was preparing for both him 
and myself.” 

She left the room, but paused a few moments in the 
hall to steady her nerves for the meeting which she 
wished to have over as soon as possible. 

When Claire at last summoned courage to enter the 
apartment in which Courtnay awaited her, she quickly 
opened the door and went in. He was pacing the floor 
with agitated steps, but when the object of his tumult- 
uous thoughts stood before him, Andrew seemed 
suddenly to regain his self-control. He calmly took 
her hand and led her to a sofa, taking a seat beside, 
but not near her. After a slight pause he said : 

“I most earnestly wished to see you once more, 
Claire, to say to you how bitterly I regret the attempt 
of last evening. I believed that I could reconcile you 
to our enforced marriage, and make you far happier 
as my cherished wife than you can ever be in the 
pursuit of an ignis fatuus that must wreck your life 
if you do not relinquish it. Your words to me in the 
cottage convinced me too late of my error. What 
passed between us there proved to me that such affec- 
tion as you have for me is not that which I coveted, 
and from that moment I saw how fatally I had deluded 
myself. I gave you up then utterly and forever. I 
no longer regret that my mad attempt was frustrated. 
I can only be thankful that such was the result, for I 


GETTING THINGS SETTLED. 133 


should only have given you new cause of wretchedness 
and myself the deepest remorse, when I had bound 
you to myself and knew, as I now know, that you can 
never love me. Pardon me, and forget the violence of 
which I was guilty, though it will be long before I 
shall obtain my own forgiveness.” 

“You have mine, Andrew,” she gently replied. 
“ Let us forget what is so disagreeable to remember, 
and be the friends we were before it happened. Since 
no evil resulted to me, you have no cause for self-con- 
demnation ; you only gave me an informal introduction 
to my brother, and enabled me to become better 
acquainted with him in a few hours, than I might have 
been under other circumstances, in as many months.” 

“You are very good, to take the affair so lightly, but 
I cannot so easily reconcile myself to the dishonor I 
have brought upon myself. I have loved you from 
boyhood, Claire, beyond anything on earth, but a fatal 
blow to my passion was struck by your words and 
manner to me yesterday afternoon. I merited the 
scorn that blazed from your eyes ; the bitter words 
that came from your lips, but they brought me back to 
my senses. When I left you, I was tempted for a few 
moments to take my own life, but that would have 
been so cowardly — so cruel to the best of mothers, 
that I recoiled from it, and hurried hither where I felt 
I should be safe from myself. 

“ I made no attempt at concealment, but related as 
exactly as I could, what had occurred. Oh ! Claire, 
my mother is a noble and true woman ; she proved 
herself an angel of forbearance toward her wayward 
and reckless son. She saved me ; she brought me back 
to the sense of my own responsibility as a human being, 


134 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


and henceforth I shall live for her; to restore her 
confidence in me, no effort will be too great, and I 
have made up my mind to pursue the path she has 
marked out for me, without attempting to swerve from 
it. 

“ I shall leave Paris in a few more hours, in the 
hope that in new scenes I may recover the tranquility 
I have lost. When that is attained, I shall return to 
my native land, assume the duties of my station, and 
try to be a good and useful man.” 

“ Dear Andrew, how glad I am to hear you speak 
thus. You will marry, and be happier far with Emma 
than you would ever have been with me.” 

With a faint attempt to smile, Courtnay said : “If 
Emma will consent to accept me, after knowing all 
that I shall feel bound to tell her, I will redeem my 
pledges to her ; and I think I shall be a good husband 
to her if she consents to forgive me. The measure of 
my mother’s content will not be full, unless I bring 
her a daughter in place of the one she must leave 
behind her here, and to please her in every act of my 
life, will henceforth be my aim. I have buried my 
selfishness, my irritable hardness, in the grave in which 
I laid my passion for you. That much, at least, has 
been gained by the anguish through which I have 
struggled, and won the victory over myself at last.” 

Claire impulsively exclaimed : 

“ Oh ! Andrew, if I had known — if I had under- 
stood the depth of your attachment to me, I could 
have shown you how different were my feelings for 
you, and thus have saved you from this sorrow. But 
for years past I have deluded myself with the belief 
that you had ceased to care for me, except as for a 


GETTING THINGS SETTLED. 


135 


tenderly beloved sister. I am most unfortunate to 
have inspired true love where I cannot; return it ; to 
have given it where it was not appreciated.” 

He sadly said : 

“ It is the history of life. We live at cross purposes 
forever, but in the future existence promised us, I sup- 
pose these things will all be set right. And now, in 
conclusion, Claire, let me say that if I can ever atone 
to you in any way for the outrage of which I have 
been guilty, I will endeavor to do so. I will serve you 
in every possible way, and if you should ever need a 
friend, do not hesitate to call on me as if I were in- 
deed your brother.” 

Claire raised her beautiful eyes to his face suffused 
with tears, and offering him her hand, said : 

“ I promise to do so, Andrew, if I should be placed 
in such a position. In this painful hour, the true no- 
bility of your nature shines forth, and I appreciate 
you as I never did before. If it should ever be in your 
power to serve me by assisting me to attain what, you 
are aware, I have set my heart on, I will give you the 
warmest gratitude I am capable of feeling. I cannot 
give up the purpose to which I have vowed to dedicate 
my life ; help me to accomplish it and you will more 
than atone for your late conduct to me. Fate may 
place that power in your hands ; if it should, use it for 
my benefit. I do not think that I could rest in my 
grave, if I had not been acknowledged as Walter 
Thorne’s lawful wife before I was laid in it.” 

Courtnay sighed heavily, and bitterly said : 

“ Your madness is almost equal to my own, Claire, 
but I shall remember your words, and if the opportunity 
offers without being sought by me, I will do what I 


136 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


can to serve you in your own way. And now, let us 
part forever. In all probability this is our last meet- 
ing on earth, and for me, it is better that it should be 
so. 

Andrew still held the hand she had placed in his, 
and before she was aware of his purpose, he drew her 
to his breast and kissed her fervently on the lips and 
brow. Then suddenly releasing her, he sunk back, 
and faintly said : 

“ Go now, while I have firmness to see you depart 
from my sight, never to be looked on again.” 

“ Adieu, Andrew,” she tearfully cried. “ May 
Heaven bless you, and give you strength to bear the 
burden I have most unwittingly laid upon you.” 

In another moment Courtnay was alone, and after a 
few moments of bitter struggle, he arose and sought 
the solitude of his own apartment. 

Late in the evening he set out on his proposed tour, 
looking pale, but quite composed, and the gentle firm- 
ness of his manner when he bade his mother farewell, 
gave her the assurauce that he had gained strength to 
subdue his unfortunate passion, and that in time, he 
would return to her restored to himself. 

M. Latour returned to luncheon, and it was arranged 
that Claire should come in on the following morning 
for Mrs. Courtnay and her daughter, and take them to 
the chateau to remain there till the time for their 
departure for the United States drew near. 


A YOUNG CIRCE. 


137 


CHAPTER VII. 


A YOUNG CIRCE. 


ATE in the evening, Claire drove back to Latour 



JLj with her brother, rather subdued in spirits, for 
the parting with Andrew had deeply affected her. 
She felt the deepest compassion for him, for she too 
well understood what baffled love was, not to give her 
hearty sympathy to him who had so nobly confessed 
his wrong, and struggled to regain the control of him- 


self. 


Claire informed her brother of what she had told 
Mrs. Courtnay, and he said in reply : 

“ It was necessary to explain to her that I am not 
the hard-hearted wretch she may have supposed me, 
and you did right, Claire ; but if it had been possible 
to avoid throwing blame on my poor, mistaken father, 
I should have been very glad. Henceforth, let us bury 
the whole story in oblivion, and when we refer to him 
let it be with the tender reverence due to the dead 
who once made a part of our lives.” 

When the carriage approached the lodge, Antoine 
and his dumb wife both came out to the gate, and the 
woman caught the dress of Claire and carried it to 
her lips, gesticulating her expressive pantomime, while 
her husband humbly said : 

“ She is thanking you, mademoiselle, for obtaining 
pardon for us from the seigneur. We can never be 
grateful enough to you for preventing us from being 
turned out on the world for our wrong-doing.” 

Before Claire could reply, her brother sternly said : 


138 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“You richly merited such a punishment, and but 
for the intercession of my sister, it would have fallen 
on you. I shall keep a sharp eye on you in the future, 
and if I detect the slightest evidence of waht of faith, 
you shall go at a moment’s warning. Remember that, 
for I do not keep those about me that I cannot trust.” 

He made a sign to the woman to loosen her hold on 
Claire’s robe, and swept through the gate so rapidly as 
to forbid reply. She deprecatingly said : 

“ Do not be too hard on them, Armand. They are 
very poor, and the large sum offered them was a great 
temptation. I have forgiven the greatest delinquent, 
and you can pardon the humble instruments employed 
by him.” 

“ I have done so, because I could not refuse the first 
request you made of me ; but through life it has been 
my rule to refuse confidence to those who have once 
deceived me. Antoine has proved that he is destitute 
of principle, and I shall never have confidence in him 
again. Did you see young Courtnay to-day ? ” 

“ Yes — I have taken a final leave of him. Andrew has 
relinquished all hope of ever being more to me than he 
now is, and I think he will return to Virginia, and 
marry the young girl his mother wishes to become his 
wife.” 

Latour drily said : 

“lam glad to hear that he will try to please his 
mother, since he has lost all chance of pleasing himself. 
How could he hope to w r in you, since your husband is 
still living? ” 

“As I am divorced, Andrew believed that I would 
respect the tie he intended to force upon me ; but I 
would not have done so. I was married with all the 


A YOUNG CIRCE. 


139 


forms of the Church, and no merely legal tribunal 
could free me from my bonds. ” 

“ Then an ecclesiastical one shall. You must not 
remain bound in any way to the man who so basely 
treated you. If I have to apply to the Pope himself, 
you shall be released.” 

“But I do not wish it, Armand. Let me appear in 
society as a widow ; no one here has the right to 
inquire into my past history, and nothing shall induce 
me to give my hand to any other than Walter Thorne. 
I have suffered enough through him, to make me 
willing to abjure the whole sex as far as marriage is 
concerned.” 

“ Are you really in earnest, Claire ? ” 

“ Solemnly in earnest, I do assure you. I consider 
myself free to flirt as much as I please, and wider 
freedom than that I neither wish, nor would accept.” 

“ So much the better for me,” Latour replied, with a 
gay laugh. “ I was beginning to fear that I should not 
long be allowed to retain the waif my good fortune 
has so unexpectedly sent me, but if you adhere to 
your views, no one can take you from me.” 

“ No one shall, brother. I intend to devote my life 
to you, and we will console each other for our mutual 
misfortunes in affairs of the heart. Life affords a great 
deal of enjoyment aside from love’s young dream, and 
it is well that we have both awakened from its delu- 

i 

sion. 

A heavy sigh escaped from Latour’s lips, and he 
softly said : 

“ Yet the dream was very sweet while it lasted. I 
admit that it was not worth the anguish with which a 
few brief days of bliss were purchased, but neither 


140 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


you nor I would give up the memory of those hours of 
enchantment in which we believed that we were 
beloved, even as we loved.” 

They drove on a short distance in silence. Suddenly 
Latour said : 

“ Look, Claire, how do you like my improvements ? ” 

A turn in the avenue brought them in sight of the 
grounds immediately around the chateau, and the 
young girl uttered an exclamation of delighted 
surprise at the transformation which had been accom- 
plished. 

In the few hours of her absence a most agreeable 
change had been wrought in the appearance of the 
desolate and long-neglected lawn. A small army of 
workmen had been employed to clear away the rank 
undergrowth, prune the trees, and clean the mould 
from the statues. 

The water nymph had resumed her place, the choked 
bed of the fountain was cleaned out and replenished 
with water, through which darted gold and silver fish. 
The shrubbery had been trimmed, and every unsightly 
object removed. 

Claire exclaimed: 

“ This is like magic. I left the place a few hours 
ago an unsightly wilderness, and I find it now a 
beautiful and well-ordered pleasure ground. How 
could such a metamorphosis have been completed in 
so short a time ? ” 

“It is the magic of money, that is all, my dear. I 
issued my orders before I left the chateau this morning, 
and Pierre has had them carried into effect. Let us 
go into the house and see what has been done within 
doors to render Latour worthy to receive our guests.” 


A YOUNG CIRCE. 


141 


By this time they were at the entrance, and Claire 
alighted from the carriage and followed her brother, 
wondering what new surprise awaited her in the house. 

Latour led her to the room he had said would make 
a pleasant boudoir, and she found that all his arms and 
pipes had been removed to make way for a piano and 
harp. Stands filled with music occupied the corners, 
and books elegantly bound and illustrated, lay upon 
inlaid tables. The smoothly waxed floor was covered 
with a tapestry carpet of delicate colors, and Latour 
laughingly said as he pointed to it : 

“ That was ordered in compliment to your trans- 
atlantic rearing. I know that your countrymen con- 
sider the furnishing of a room incomplete if the floor 
is not covered. I hope you like my improvements, 
mademoiselle ? ” 

“ Like them ! Indeed I do. I can never do enough 
to show you how highly I appreciate your kindness.” 

“ Only love me, and cling to me as your good provi- 
dence, that is all the return I ask. Come now, and I 
will show you the suite of apartments I have had 
prepared for your friend.” 

He led her through the vestibule, and opened a door 
which gave into a large, well-lighted chamber elegantly 
fitted up. From this a smaller one opened, and beyond 
was a bath-room. 

“ These are for Mrs. Courtnay and her daughter, 
and I hope we shall be able to make them so well 
contented here, that they will consent to linger a long 
time with us.” 

“ They would be hard to please if they were not 
contented with such a host as you to cater for them. 
Mamma will be delighted, and Julia will be happy as 


142 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


the fairies. But neither of them can appreciate this as 
I do, Arm and, for you have done it to make me 
happy.” 

“ Well, petite , if the end is gained, I am repaid.” 

Claire threw her arms around his neck, and kissed 
him many times. She said : 

“ I have found one good man, at all events, and, for 
his sake, I will hereafter think better of his false sex.” 

“But not so well of any one among them, I hope, 
as to make you wish for the divorce I spoke of,” he 
replied laughing. “ I intend to keep you for myself 
alone ; and, if I can, I will make your life as bright as 
a fairy tale. But it grows late, and supper will soon 
be served. You had better go to your chamber and 
take off your bonnet.” 

It was already dusk, and when Claire entered her 
room, she found wax lights burning on the toilette, 
and a neat-looking young girl waiting to receive her. 
She smiled, courtsied, and said : 

“ I am mademoiselle’s maid, and my name is Finette. 
I am old Pierre’s grand-daughter, but I have been 
trained for a lady’s maid in a school in Paris, to which 
Monsieur le Baron sent me.” 

Her new mistress smilingly said : 

“You are a nice-looking girl, Finette, and I like 
your face. I think we shall get along very well 
together ; and it was kind of my brother to provide a 
maid for me.” 

“ M. Latour thinks of everything, mademoiselle ; he 
is the best and kindest of gentlemen. What dress 
shall I lay out for you, my lady? I have arranged 
your wardrobe, and have everything ready for your 
toilette.” 


A YOUNG CIRCE. 


143 


Finette threw open the armoire, and Claire saw that 
the dresses which had lately been made for her were 
all there ; and she knew that her brother had been 
thoughtful enough to have her trunks sent out before 
her own arrival. She gayly said : 

“ Really, this must be an enchanted palace, and my 
brother the spirit that rules. Since he has troubled 
himself to have my things sent out, I must pay him 
the compliment to dress for the evening. Take down 
the lavender silk with cherry trimmings ; that will be 
most becoming to my style, and I wish to look as well 
as possible in his eyes.” 

Finette obeyed ; she then removed her young lady’s 
hat, enclosed her in a dressing robe, and proceeded to 
let down the shining lengths of her hair, uttering 
exclamations of delight at its softness and lustre. 

The maid deftly performed her duties, and Claire 
stood before the long mirror in full evening dress for 
the first time in her life. Her robe was cut low on the 
bosom, with short sleeves, and over both arms and 
boddice was a fall of fine lace, fastened with knots of 
cherry-colored ribbon, which relieved the delicate 
shade of the dress, and harmonized with her creamy 
complexion and dark eyes. 

She blushed and smiled at the radiant image of 
youth and beauty that gleamed on her from the mirror, 
and wondered what her recreant husband would think 
and feel if he could see her now, in the perfect de- 
velopment of her charms, surrounded by a degree of 
luxury to which he had not himself been accustomed. 

Her lip curled with disdainful pride as she thought 
of him, and mentally said : 

“ All this is but a stepping-stone to the fixed pur- 


144 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


pose of ray life. I shall reach him yet. I will reach 
him, or die in the attempt.” 

Finette interrupted her thoughts, by asking ; 

“ Will mademoiselle wear no jewels ? Her toilette 
is incomplete without them.” 

“ I have none,” said Claire, dreamily. “ It does not 
matter about them for this evening.” 

“ Pardon me, mademoiselle, but these were sent in 
just before you came. I laid them in the drawer, for 
they are so beautiful I could not help looking at them, 
and I was afraid I might make some blunder in your 
toilette if they were left on the table.” 

“ A new surprise from Armand, I suppose,” thought 
the elated Claire, for she had a passion for gems, which 
she had never been able to indulge ; and she drew out 
the drawer herself. A cry of delight issued from her 
lips as she beheld the magnificent present awaiting her 
acceptance. 

An open casket lay within, containing a parure of 
diamonds of dazzling lustre and beauty. An open 
paper lay beside them, on which was written in Eng- 
lish : 

“ These belonged to my mother. They have long 
lain unused ; a part of the time in pledge for the debts 
I have since liquidated. Wear them this evening for 
my gratification, Claire, for I wish to see my young 
chatelaine decked in the symbols of her new rank. 
It is an idle fancy, perhaps, but it will please me to see 
these gems glittering upon the person of one who is 
worthy to wear them.” 

Claire lifted the different pieces from their velvet 
bed, and with ecstacy she made no attempt to conceal, 
saw the brilliant jewels flash from throat, breast and 


A YOUNG CIRCE. 


145 


arms, as Finette fastened them in their places. There 
was also a bandeau for the hair, with a large star upon 
the forehead. She laughingly said : 

“ They are not suited to this dress, but I must wear 
them this evening to please their munificent donor.” 

“ There are two other sets, if mademoiselle prefers 
to wear them,” said the maid, diving deeper into the 
drawer, and bringing forth a couple of morocco cases, 
in one of which was a parure of pink coral, and in the 
other one of pearls. 

“ Really, my brother is too profuse in his liberality,” 
murmured daire. “ He means to take my heart by 
storm ; but the best part of it was his before he at- 
tempted to buy it with these beautiful things.” 

“ The coral ornaments will suit your toilette best, 
mademoiselle,” said Finette. “ Shall I remove the 
diamonds and put these in their place ? ” 

“ By no means ; my brother wishes me to wear my 
diamonds to-night, so you can put up the others.” 

“ You are right, mademoiselle ; you look magnifi- 
cent, superb ! You are the queen of beautiful women.” 

Claire smiled at this flattery, and swept out of the 
room. She found her brother in the salon in which the 
supper-table was laid. She flashed suddenly upon him 
in all her bravery, and he looked first surprised, then 
delighted. Latour involuntarily exclaimed : 

“ Good Heavens ! how beautiful you are, Claire ! I 
thought you lovely in your plain gray robe, but in full 
toilette you are enchanting. Your eyes rival your 
diamonds in brilliancy, my dear, and your cheeks have 
a lovelier coloring than your ribbons. The man that 
wrote that nonsense about beauty unadorned must 
have been a curmudgeon.” 

9 


146 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I fully agree with you in that opinion,” she gavly 
replied. “ But the light of my eyes is not borrowed 
from the shimmer of my jewels, Armand. It is bom 
of the glowing gratitude of my heart for your bound- 
less munificence to me. I, so poor all my life, so lately 
dependent, feel as if I have been suddenly transform- 
ed into a princess, as poor Cinderella was. But I know 
my gems will not turn into pebble-stones, as her car- 
riage did to a pumpkin ; and my prince is something 
far better than hers, for he is my dear brother, and 
cannot ask of me the reward Cinder’s lover demand- 
ed.” 

“ I shall ask as much love as he did, though of a 
different kind,” was the smiling response. “ I cannot 
give you a glass slipper, because I am not a fairy god- 
father, but anything in reason you may ask and have. 
But here comes our supper, and Zolande seems struck 
dumb by the splendor of your appearance.” 

The old woman placed the dishes upon the table, and 
then, with a deep courtesy to the brilliant figure before 
her, said : 

“You are served, my lady. You are wearing the 
diamonds of my mistress, I see, and well do they be- 
come you, too. Ah ! many is the day since they shone 
in the light before.” 

“ Don’t go to crooning over past days, Zolande, but 
welcome the new era that has dawned for us all. How 
is it that you are waiting on the table, when I ordered 
a butler to be sent from Paris ? ” 

The housekeeper drew herself up, and said, with 
extreme dignity : 

“ The creature is here, M. Armand, but I wasn’t 
going to let him wait on you, when I have done it to 


A YOUNG CIRCE. 147 

your satisfaction so long. Besides, he’s got a misery 
in him somewhere, and he's lying down.” 

Latour frowned, and then laughed, as he said : 

“ I hope you did not attempt to scratch his face for 
intruding here ; it would be just like you if you had. 
I am going to keep open house, and entertain like other 
proprietors, and you must submit to have your domin- 
ions invaded. You shall be housekeeper, but a corps 
of properly trained servants will be installed here to- 
morrow, and it will be your business to keep them in 
good order.” 

The old woman looked aghast at this announce- 
ment. 

“ How on earth shall I ever do it ? ” she dolefully 
asked. 

“ I should not think you would have any doubt as to 
your capacity to rule servants, when you have spent so 
many years of your life in trying to rule me.” 

“ Oh, that was different,” she briskly replied. “ I 
nursed you and made you mind when you were a little 
fellow, and of course I expected to have something to 
say to you when you got to be a man.” 

Latour laughed good-humoredly. 

“ Well, I have no doubts myself as to your power 
to keep my people straight. If you find the charge too 
heavy for you, I can pension you off, and put a younger 
woman in authority.” 

Zolande tossed her high cap disdainfully. 

“ I was born on this place, and I have had charge of 
the house long enough to know what is to be done, 
even if we are to have strange people coming, so you 
need not talk of paying me to give up my place. I’ll 
keep it even if the new servants torment me to death.” 


148 the discarded wife. 

“ So much the better ; but there is much more 
danger of such a result to them than to }'Ou, I think.” 

The old woman deigned no reply to this insinuation ; 
she waited most assiduously upon the two, affirming that 
the new butler was too much indisposed to make his 
appearance that evening. 

When the repast was over, Latour led Claire into 
the music room, and asked her to play for him. She 
had become a brilliant performer on both harp and 
piano, and she asked him which he preferred. 

“ The harp of course,” he said, “ for that will dis- 
play not only your proficiency as a musician, but show 
to advantage the grace, and beauty of your person. 
For the little while I have you to myself, I wish to 
enjoy all your powers of enchantment.” 

“ You flatter charmingly,” responded Claire, with a 
gay laugh. “ I shall do my best to entrance you, but 
you must not expect to hear me sing like a prima donna. 
My voice has been thoroughly trained, but it is not one 
of great compass.” 

“ It will please me all the better for that. I like 
music that speaks to the soul, and fashionable shriek- 
ing rarely has that power. Give me something soft 
and thrilling.” 

She placed herself beside the magnificent harp, 
swept the strings with skillful fingers, and after play- 
ing a prelude, struck into an old melody which she 
had learned from her father. 

Latour listened a few moments, then threw himself 
upon the divan, and buried his face in the cushions. 
He presently looked up, and in a pained voice, said : 

“ Not that strain, Claire. It carries me back to my 
youth, and evokes too many painful memories. My 


A YOUNG CIRCE. 


149 


father played it on his violin, and it is the first tune I 
can remember. He was master of the instrument, as 
you know, and could have retrieved his broken fortunes 
as a musician if he would have consented to adopt 
such a calling.” 

“I have his violin,” said Claire, “and he taught me 
to play upon it, too. Would you like to hear the old 
cremona again ? ” 

“ Above all things. The sight and sound of it would 
bring him more vividly before me than anything else 
could.” 

Claire left the room, and after a brief absence re- 
turned, bearing the carefully preserved instrument in 
her hand. 

She smilingly said : 

“ I have brought this to cheer, not to depress you, 
Arrnand. If our father can look down upon us from 
his heavenly abode, he is blessing the re-union of his 
children, and smiling upon the son he unfortunately 
understood too little. I shall not play a requiem to 
his memory, for he is happy, I feel assured. A joyful 
j*ean will please his spirit better, if it is now lingering 
near us.” 

As in the old days, in the far-away land of her 
birth, Claire struck into a gay air and danced in time 
to it through the room, the lights flashing on her airy 
and brilliant figure, displaying all its grace and sym- 
metry. 

Her brother looked on with delight, and when she 
paused before him at the close of her unique perform- 
ance and made a deep salaam, he said : 

“ You are a skillful exorcist, Claire. The gloom 
that was creeping over me has been dispelled as if by 


150 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


magic. I have seen the famous dancing girls of the 
East, but among them was nothing to compare with 
you. Child, do you know that you wear the magic 
cestus of Venus, which must bring to your feet both 
young and old ? I can understand now and almost 
forgive the infatuation that led young Courtnay to 
act as he did.” 

With a brilliant smile she asked : 

“ Do you really think that no one will be able to 
resist me if I choose to play the part of a Circe ? ” 

“ He would be more than man if he could,” was the 
reply. 

An expression of triumphant power irradiated her 
face, and she impulsively exclaimed : 

“ How glad I am to hear you say that ! Oh ! brother, 
I have labored for this end ; I have tried to make my- 
self irresistible, that I may yet bring home to the heart 
that outraged mine, all and more than he made me 
suffer.” 

“ What ! would you waste your fascinations on such 
a villain as that ! Do you believe him to be worth a 
thought from a Peri like yourself ? My dear Claire, 
do not sacrifice your life to an idea. Thrust the mem- 
ory of those days into oblivion ; never speak or think of 
that man, or I shall be tempted to cross the Atlantic 
and bring him to an account for his conduct to you.” 

“ But, Armand, I have vowed within my soul that 
Walter Thorne shall yet acknowledge that I was un- 
lawfully put away ; that our marriage was legal in all 
its forms, and there was no just ground for repudiat- 
ing me. I will win him back yet ; make him adore me, 
and then he too shall know what it is to be deserted 
by the one he loves.” 


A YOUNG CIRCE. 


151 


“ Ah ! bah ! don’t cherish so absurd a dream. The 
wretch is unworthy of all that trouble. You are dead 
to him ; live now for yourself and for me. Enjoy the 
brilliant life I shall give you, without casting back a 
regret. God sends retribution even in this world, to 
all wrong doers, and you can safely leave this Thorne 
to his justice.” 

“ I must do so still — till my rival passes from the 
stage ; but then I ” 

Latour interrupted her : 

“ I hope the wife who usurped your place, will live 
on till we are all ready to put on the robes of immor- 
tality. It will be best for you if she does ; but se- 
riously, dear Claire, I would not have a bright, sweet 
spirit such as yours marred by thus hoarding thoughts 
of vengeance against another. How can you ask God 
to forgive as you have forgiven if you tenaciously hold 
to this insane purpose ? ” 

Her face ' drooped upon her hands, and she stood 
silent a few moments. Then raising it, she quietly 
said : 

“We will talk of this no more, Armand ; but one 
thing must be settled. What name shall I bear in the 
character of a young widow ? It must not be either 
yours or my father’s, or gossip may make itself busy 
with my antecedents.” 

“ Under what name were you enrolled in your 
school ? ” 

“ As the adopted daughter of Mrs. Courtnay. I 
went by her name, but I do not wish to retain that 
when I am entitled to one of my own.” 

“ You would not surely be introduced as Madame 
Thorne?” 


152 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“No. But I shall not give up my right to Walter’s 
name altogether. I will translate it into your lan- 
guage, and call myself Madame L’Epine. How do you 
approve of that ? ” 

Latour saw how deeply in earnest she was, and 
after sorrowfully regarding her a brief space, said : 

“ If it will gratify you to bear the shadow of that 
man’s name, as you hold the shadowy relation of wife 
to him, I will not refuse my sanction ; but it is given 
on the condition that his true name shall never be men- 
tioned between us again. But that he has given me 
the power to claim you as my companion by acting in 
the base manner he did,. I would not allow the same 
world to hold us both. As it is, it will not be well for 
him ever to cross my path.” 

Claire shivered, but she calmly said : 

“ I will mention him no more. Henceforth I am 
Madame L’Epine ; that will suffice for the present. 
JWhat the future may bring forth neither you nor I 
can foresee. Let us resume our music. I am sure that 
you also play on the violin ; take it, and let me hear 
you.” 

Without uttering a word Latour took the violin, and 
executed a difficult movement. Claire placed herself 
before the fine toned piano, and improvised an accom- 
paniment. Suddenly he seemed possessed by a musi- 
cal demon. Theme after theme was played with the 
skill of a master, and Claire still continued to strike 
the chords that harmonized with them. At length he 
laid the violin aside, and said : 

“ I believe the spirit of my father has moved my 
arm to-night ; never before have I played so well, yet 
I am much out of practice. Good night, Claire. It is 


A YOUNG CIRCE. 


153 


not late, but I feel exhausted, and I have something 
to do in my laboratory. You can amuse yourself with 
your books and music for the remainder of the even- 
ing. To-morrow you will have your friends to enter- 
tain, and I hope you will be happy with them.” 

He kissed her brow, and left the room as if unwil- 
ling to break the spell the music had left upon him. 

Claire, still thrilling with excitement, tried to quiet 
her nerves by playing on, and till a late hour of the 
night the lonely experimenter in the distant tower 
faintly heard the vibrations of the music echoing 
through the walls so long unaccustomed to such 
sounds. 

But in the absorption of his favorite pursuit, Latour 
soon ceased to heed them, or to think of the new influ- 
ence that had come into his arid life. It w r as strange 
that a man of hard, practical sense, in the ordinary 
affairs of life, should have yielded his mind to the vis- 
ionary schemes which filled that of the chemist ; but 
no seeker after this delusive phantom was ever more 
earnest in his belief that ultimate success would crown 
his efforts to discover the secret of the transmutation 
of metals, than M. Latour was. 

Already had he wasted immense sums on this vain 
chimera, and large as his fortune was, there was dan- 
ger that his crucibles would ultimately absorb it all. 
On this night he found that nothing would work well, 
and he finally concluded that he was himself unfitted 
for the labor he had undertaken. His nerves were 
unstrung, and at a late hour he suffered the fire in the 
furnace to slacken, and threw open the windows of the 
tower. 

As he stood in the deep silence of midnight, looking 


154 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


out upon the blue vault of Heaven thickly studded 
with stars, he suddenly felt as if a cold hand was laid 
upon his heart, and a spiritual voice seemed to whisper 
to his inner consciousness : 

“You are risking all for naught ; you will go on to 
the fatal end, but you have first a duty to perform by 
her who has no other to look to. Give, while you 
possess the power to do so honorably. Secure to 
Claire the means of living in the affluence for which 
you will give her a taste ; that done, make what use 
you please with the wealth you have so hardly won.” 

Cold drops burst out upon his forehead, so strongly 
was he impressed that something not of earth was near 
him. He turned slowly, and surveyed the brilliantly 
lighted room ; but not even a shadow was visible ; and 
throwing himself upon his chair, he muttered : 

“ Whether the warning were supernatural or only 
the suggestion of my own better judgment, it will be 
well to act on it, and that too without delay. I shall 
die as my father did — alone, and in the night. Death 
steals on the men of our race as a thief in the darkness, 
and for generations not one has been able to escape the 
doom. I am not old, but I am broken down before 
my time by all I have passed through. My debt to 
my father must be paid with noble interest, for this 
enchanting child shall never suffer through me.” 

Late as the hour was, he opened his desk and drew 
up the draft of a settlement to be made on Claire. 
The next day it was taken to his lawyer, and promptly 
executed: he gave her the chateau of Latour, with the 
small estate attached to it, and an income of thirty 
thousand francs was secured to her from other sources. 

This done, the remainder of his fortune Latour con- 


A YOUNG CIRCE. 


155 


sidered himself entitled to risk in any way he chose, 
though he firmly adhered to the belief that he would 
eventually increase it beyond the power of imagina- 
tion to grasp, and become the benefactor of the human 
race through the results of his chemical combinations. 

A week later, when he presented this magnificent 
gift to his sister, she exclaimed : 

“ Thirty thousand a year ! That is six thousand 
dollars for my own use. It is too much, Armand ; and 
how can you give me your ancestral home ? I thought 
it was entailed.” 

“ There is no such law in France now. Latour came 
to me through the will of my uncle, as it will to you 
through mine. I have no other on whom to bestow it, 
and I wish you to feel that you have as good a right 
here as I have. As to the income, it is but a tithe of 
mine, and you will find ample use for it in the bril- 
liant circle of which you will soon become a member. 
Many Parisian women spend thrice as much annually 
on their toilette. Your allowance, with the presents I 
shall make you, will enable you to be what I wish to 
see you — one of the best dressed women in our extrav- 
agant city.” 

She radiantly replied : 

“ I should think so, indeed ! The sum seems inex- 
haustible to me in so short a space of time as a year. 
I will not deny that I love splendor, but I love still 
better the generous man who has secured me inde- 
pendence for life. I should not have found it difficult 
to ask you for what I wanted, Armand, but it is as 
well for me to know how far I may go without en- 
croaching on your liberality. I shall keep within my 
income, let temptations assail me as they may.” 


156 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


So Claire thought then, but in the scenes in which 
she soon began to play a conspicuous part, she found 
that, with her extravagant tastes and careless disregard 
of money, it was not so easy to keep her promise as 
she had supposed. More than once her brother came 
to the rescue, and paid bills for her so large that she 
feared even to look at the sum total. But he always 
consoled her by saying : 

“ What is mine is yours, to use as you please. As 
long as my fortune lasts, you shall enjoy it to the 
utmost, in the way most agreeable to you.” 

So Claire made new bills, gave with a liberal hand, 
and as she had said — she had her swing, happily un- 
conscious that this golden Pactolus might fall, and her 
own settlement be all that remained of the wealth 
accumulated by years of toil and distasteful occupa- 
tion beneath the burning sun of an Eastern clime. 

Yet what Claire so prodigally squandered was a 
mere trifle in comparison with that which was devoured 
by the homely furnace in the old tower. 

Like the cry of the Moloch, it was ever, give — give ! 
and nothing was yielded in return save the residuum 
of that ponderous metal which weighed as a nightmare 
on the soul of the experimenter. Yet he still clung to 
his infatuation — still believed that a triumphant result 
would yet be obtained, and his labors eventually meet 
their reward. 


LIFE AT LATOUR. 


157 


CHAPTER VIII. 

LIFE AT LATOUR. 

S OON after breakfast was over on the following 
morning, a new and elegantly appointed equipage 
was driven to the door, drawn by a pair of Arabian 
horses, which had been brought by M. Latour from the 
East. A driver and footman in livery stood ready to 
take their new mistress to Paris. 

Claire was enraptured with this new proof of her 
brother’s liberality, and expressed herself in glowing 
terms to him. He smilingly said : 

“ This is your state carriage, Madame, but I have 
ordered a pony phaeton for you, that you may drive 
yourself, as the English ladies do. Of course, one 
reared in the country as you have been, knows how to 
ride on horseback, and, in my stable, is another Arabian 
as gentle as a lamb, yet as swift as the wind. Saladin 
shall be yours, and you can order an equestrian outfit 
as soon as you please.” 

“ Of course I shall do that, and lose no time in get- 
ting mounted. I am passionately fond of riding, and 
no gift could be more acceptable to me. You really 
overwhelm me, Armand, and, if I did not believe you 
to be as rich as you are liberal, I should hesitate about 
accepting so much from you.” 

“ Hush, child ! If I did not lavish my money on 
you, I should throw it away in some other manner less 
productive of pleasure to myself. To witness your 
radiant delight is a source of gratification to me ; I am 
thankful to be able to make one human being happy.” 


158 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ You may feel assured that you render me so, my 
dear brother. I seem suddenly to have stepped into 
fairy-land. Au revoir ; I shall bring back mamma and 
Julia to visit the good magician, who is better than 
Midas, for he turns gold into everything that can min- 
ister to taste and enjoyment.” 

Latour placed her in the carriage, and closing the 
door himself, said : 

“ I have business to attend to in the city, and I shall 
follow you in half an hour : but you will not see me, 
for I must consult with my lawyer. When I return I 
hope to find you established here with your friends.” 

Claire nodded, smiled, and the carriage rolled 
through the long avenue, in which men were busily 
at work completing the renovation which had been 
commenced on the previous day. The long-neglected 
grounds had already assumed the trim and well-kept 
appearance of a gentleman’s park ; and the heart of 
the young chatelaine swelled with pride and exultation 
as she thought that all this had been done for her 
sake. 

Then a sigh bubbled up from the depths of her soul 
as she remembered her father — his days of toil and 
privation, willfully endured, when his son was rolling 
in wealth, and anxious to use it for him as liberally as 
he was pouring it forth for her. But it was too late to 
grieve for that now, and Claire, in the bright present, 
soon forgot the sombre past : forgot almost that she 
was the repudiated wife of Walter Thorne, with a vow 
of retribution registered against him. 

On gaining the city she drove first to her modiste 
and ordered a riding-habit and cap of the newest style. 
On reaching Mrs. Courtnay’s lodgings she found her 


LIFE AT LATOUR. 


159 


quite ready to leave, and Julia was in the wildest spirits 
at the prospect of freedom from lessons, and the en- 
joyment of country pleasures. 

Old Betty, too, was radiant, for the air of Paris did 
not agree with her, and the duties of waiting-maid had 
long since proved so onerous that she had petitioned her 
mistress to allow her to assume those of cook in the 
modest establishment kept by her. Betty had learned 
to speak a wretched jargon, which she called French}^ ; 
she managed to make herself intelligible to the class 
she was thrown among, but she pined for the sight of 
people of her own color, and had once even attempted 
to cultivate an acquaintance with a sable follower of 
the Turkish ambassador, whom she casually encounter- 
ed in a shop where both were buying tobacco. 

The disgust of the old woman was extreme when 
she found that he could not, or would not, understand 
her polyglot language ; and Betty emphatically de- 
clared that “ she did not believe in stuck-up niggers.” 

Her foreign experiences would have been very en- 
tertaining if they could have been taken down in her 
own language, and spiced with her comments on the 
doings of the Munsheers , as she called all French peo- 
ple, irrespective of sex. Claire laughed when she 
thought of the meeting between her old nurse and Zo- 
lande, and wondered what would result from it. 

Betty looked at her brilliant face, and said : 

“ I allers thought you’d come to suffin’ gran’, Missy, 
an’ so you has. Bress the Lor’ for all his massies ! I 
aint had a good look at your brudder yit, but de Ma- 
dame says he’s like the old marster. What for he 
nebber come to ’Meriky to see his fader, an* to give 
him some o’ de money dey say he’s got so much 
on?” 


X60 the discarded wife. 

“ It’s a long story, mammy, and I can’t explain it 
now. But Armand was not to blame for neglect of 
duty ; you may take my word for that, or I should not 
love him as I do.” 

“Den he’s good to you, Rosebud? Well,, if he is 
dat, ’taint none o’ my bizness to be settin’ up in judg- 
ment onto him, so I’ll take him on trus’, honey.” 

Betty was sent out in a light wagon in charge of the 
baggage, and the two ladies took their places in the 
carriage, accompanied by Julia. After a very pleas- 
ant drive they reached the lodge and passed under the 
shade of the trees that formed the long avenue. In 
some surprise at the neat appearance of the grounds, 
Mrs. Courtnay said : 

“ From your description of Latour, I expected to 
find it in rather a dilapidated condition ; but every 
thing seems in perfect order to me.” 

“ So it is now ; my brother is a good genius, and he 
has literally caused the wilderness to blossom as the 
rose in the short space of twenty-four hours. Order 
has been brought out of chaos, for when I first saw the 
place two days ago it was almost like an Indian jungle. 
Armand is a wonderful man, for he has not only had 
this transformation accomplished, but he has already 
organized his household on a liberal footing and brought 
to the chateau what he thought would particularly 
please* me. My brother will try to make me happy, 
and I intend to be so, in spite of all drawbacks.” 

“ I can see no reason why you should not, my dear. 
Your lot, after all your trials, promises to be a most 
fortunate one. Love and care are necessary to a 
woman’s happiness, and these you will receive from 
your brother. Fraternal affection is quite as precious 


LIFE AT LATOUR. 


161 


as conjugal, and often affords more serene enjoyment. 
An object to love is what the heart craves, and what 
matters it whether it be brother, child or husband, 
provided it is worthy ! ” 

“ I shall try to adopt your philosophy, mamma, and 
after my experience I certainly shall not pine for 
wedded bliss. That would be the last degree of 
weakness, not to call it positive imbecility.” 

“ Why, Claire, do you never intend to get married 
again?” asked Julia, with widely distended eyes. 
“You are so pretty that somebody will have you. I 
wanted Andrew to ask you first, but he would court 
cousin Emma. She is very nice, but I love you best.” 

Mrs. Courtnay had thought it best to conceal from 
Julia the attempted abduction made by her brother, 
and she merely accounted for Claire’s absence that 
evening by saying that an accident had happened which 
led to a meeting with M. Latour, and he had taken his 
sister to his chateau. She now coldly said : 

“Do not talk nonsense, Julia. Andrew and Claire 
fully understand each other, and much as I am attached 
to her, I think she will be happier here than with us. 
When Emma becomes your sister you will transfer 
your enthusiastic affection to her and soon think no 
one like her.” 

“ Cousin Emma isn’t bright, gay and bewitching as 
my Claire is, and I shall never think as much of her,” 
asserted Julia; “but I shall like her well enough, I 
dare say, when she comes to live at the Grange.” 

“ Of course you will, pet,” said her friend ; “ but 
look — there is Latour. The central portion was once 
a feudal stronghold, and Armand says it was built 
centuries ago. More than once it has been besieged, 
10 


162 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


but never taken. In the bloody revolution a party of 
aristocrats took refuge in it, were attacked by the sans 
culottes , and fought till the last man among them was 
killed. My brother’s uncle had fled to England ; his 
property was confiscated and a price set on his head. 
When Napoleon restored order again, he came back, 
and regained what was left of his fortune ; but it 
would have been a poor inheritance for Armand if he 
had not possessed something of his own to add to it.” 

Julia grew pale and tremulously said: 

“ If people have been killed here, I shall be afraid 
to sleep in Latour.” 

“ But, my dear child, you will not be shut up in the 
tower. My brother has appropriated that, and the 
wing we shall inhabit was built within the last thirty 
years. It is all modern and handsomely fitted up.” 

The carriage here drew up in front of a flight of 
terraced steps which led to the door. Stone urns 
filled with plants in full bloom had been placed on 
each side of the flagged walk leading to the house, 
and through this fragrant avenue Claire conducted her 
friends and offered them a graceful welcome to her new 
home. 

She then led the way to the apartment prepared for 
Mrs. Courtnay, and with the gleeful abandon of a 
child, pointed out all the improvements her brother 
had made in the brief space of time at his command. 

But another agreeable surprise awaited her. On 
the toilette was a dressing-case of papier mache with 
mountings of gold of excellent workmanship. Within 
the open lid lay a slip of paper on which was written : 

“FROM CLAIRE TO HER BELOVED BENEFACTRESS.” 


LIFE AT LATOUR. 168 

Mrs. Courtnay glanced at the words, flushed slightly 
and said : 

“ You are a most extravagant creature, Claire ; and 
I fear that you are attempting to pay me in costly gifts 
for what I have freely done for you.” 

“ Indeed, you wrong me, mamma. This is from my 
brother, given in my name, and of course you cannot 
refuse it. I was not even aware of his intention 
to afford me this gratification. Let us examine the 
interior, for I think that Julia has not been overlooked, 
and we shall find something pretty intended for her. 
Armand delights in pleasant surprises.” 

Mrs. Courtnay took up a parcel wrapped in paper, 
and labeled with her daughter’s name. 

“ This is for Julia, and it was left for her to open, 
herself, I suppose.” 

Julia eagerly sprang forward, cut the strings, and 
unfolding several wrappings of tissue paper, displayed 
an enameled egg with her name set in seed pearls upon 
the side. A little examination disclosed a spring 
which, on being touched, opened the lid, and a tiny 
bird sprang out quivering its wings upon a green spray. 
It sang a fashionable air, and when the performance 
was closed, returned to the nest within and the egg 
closed of itself. The little girl was almost wild with 
delight. 

“What an exquisite present,” she exclaimed. “I 
have always wanted a musical box, and this is the most 
beautiful one that could be imagined. Why, Claire, 
your brother must be as rich as the ancient king I was 
reading about the other day, to be able to give so 
much away.” 

“ My dear, he would give you and your mother half 


164 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


his fortune for taking care of me so long, if he could 
only induce her to accept it. The cost of these things 
is a mere bagatelle to what mamma has expended for 
me ; but that is not what you must consider. You 
must comprehend the feeling that prompts the gift, 
otherwise Armand will consider his efforts to please 
you a failure.” 

“ I believe I understand. M. Latour likes to see 
people happy, and I am sure he has made me so.” 

Her mother smiled and said : 

“ And I too, Julia, am gratified by these elegant 
offerings to both of us. But, Claire, you must make 
your brother understand that these must be the last, or 
I shall feel tempted to decline his hospitality during 
my stay in France.” 

“ Do not make such a threat as that, mamma, though 
there is little danger that you would be allowed to 
carry it into effect. Armand has too much tact not to 
know how far he may go, but he feels the obligations I 
am under to you, and he naturally wishes to make some 
slight return for them. I will leave you now to prepare 
for luncheon ; after that is over we can amuse ourselves 
till my brother’s return. Dinner will be served at five, 
and he will be here in time for it.” 

Claire went to her own room, in which she was 
surprised to find Betty and Zolande talking and gestic- 
ulating at each other in a manner that was much too 
animated to indicate friendly relations between them. 

The Frenchwoman flushed, and apologetically said : 

“ I beg pardon, my lady, but that ’Merican would 
come in here to see your room, and after she got in I 
couldn’t get her out again. She looks more like a old 
monkey than anything else, and I don’t think she has 
much more manners than one.” 


LIFE AT LATOUR. 165 

Betty partially understood her, and she indignantly 
broke in : 

“ What dat you’m sayin’ to my nuss- chile ? Singe 
— singe, dat mean ape. Is you a-callin’ of a ’spectable 
cullud lady names sich as dat ? I’ll pay yer back, you 
munsheer , you’s a goraff, dar ! dat’s what you is, wi’ dat 
tall white cap upon yer head. Muslin’s cheap, I reckin, 
or you wouldn’t put so much in your riggin. It’s leide, 
it’s vielain. I hopes you un’stan’s what dat means 
anyhow.” 

The offended housekeeper drew herself up to her 
most stately height and said : 

“ I can’t understand much of what she says, my 
lady, but she means to be rude, and I can’t put up 
with that from such a looking-creature as she is.” 

Though this was spoken in pretty good French, 
Betty understood it, and with a grimace retorted : 

“ If I want any better lookin’ than you, I’d go hang 
myself. I used to be called black Wenus on de plant- 
ation, but my people wouldn’t think you was no whar 
if you went ’mong ’em a puttin’ on yer white trash 
airs.” 

“ Hush mammy,” commanded Claire, imperatively. 
“ I will not have a quarrel between you and Zolande. 
You are a guest here, and you must be polite to the 
housekeeper ; besides, she was my brother’s nurse, and 
of course expects more consideration than an ordinary 
servant.” 

“Well, if she was, so was I your nuss, honey, an’ 
she ain’t no better’n me, she ain’t a gwine to order me 
roun’ nohow.” 

“ Very well. If you refuse to conduct yourself prop- 
erly, I will send you down to the lodge to stay with 


166 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


the gate-keeper and his wife. Another attendant can 
be found for mamma while she is here. I will have 
no discord in my brother’s house, for he would be 
greatly annoyed if he heard of this absurd quarrel 
between you and Zolande.” 

44 Oh, Lor’ honey, don’ talk o’ sendin’ me way, for I 
couldn’t stan’ it, ’deed I couldn’t ! As to dat Munsheer 
thar, I’ll promise to keep de peace wid her ; dat is, if 
she don’t go to callin’ of me names. Singe , indeed ! 
I’ll singe her eyebrows off if she says dat again.” 

Zolande could not understand her, but she stood 
lowering, and defiant, and with some effort addressed 
her young lady respectfully : 

44 Shall the ’Merican not go with me to the servants’ 
apartments, my lady? She has no business in here, 
as I tried to make her understand. Jest to think, I 
thought all the Meriky people was like that black mon- 
ster there. As she called me one to you, I hope my 
calling her one won’t offend you.” 

44 You misunderstood her, Zolande, Betty is a good 
creature, and if you wfill be very polite to her, she will 
become friendly, and afford you much entertainment. 
She has shrewdness enough, and she comprehends a 
great deal that is not expressed. As a native of la belle 
France, you are too well-bred to take offence at this 
poor ignorant creature. Let her see that you have con- 
sideration enough for her, to treat her kindly in spite 
of her color, and you will make her a friend.” 

44 I’d as soon make friends with the gorilla in the 
public garden, but if my lady insists, I suppose I must 
try to be civil to her. But hadn’t I better leave her 
with you awhile ’till you’ve tamed her down a little ? 
Finette ran away as soon as she saw her, and she’s 
afraid to come back while the creature is here.” 


LIFE AT LATOUR. 


16 T 


“ You can go, and I will see what I can do.” 

Zolande made her exit as quickly as possible, and 
Claire, accustomed from infancy to black servants, was 
not prepared for the feeling of repulsion manifested 
toward her sable friend. But as she glanced toward 
the old woman, she could not repress a merry smile 
at the claim she had asserted to be called a Venus. 

She saw before her a fat, dumpy figure, which looked 
as if carved out of ebony, with a wrinkled face sur- 
mounted by a mass of grizzled hair, around which a 
brilliant silk handkerchief was wound in the form of a 
turban. Heavy gold hoops in her ears, and a string of 
yellow beads around her short neck, betrayed the fond- 
ness of the savage for gaudy colors and gay orna- 
ments, however unsuited to the age of the wearer. 

Betty observed Claire’s amusement, and grimly 
asked : 

“ What for you larfin,’ Missy ? Cos you’s sent dat 
Munsheer off widout her ax my pardon for ’sultin of a 
cullud lady what lived along wid you, and took care 
on you so many years ? I jis came in here to see de 
fine things yer brudder’s give yer, an’ my gracious ! if 
de gal dat was in here didn’t scuttle out like I had hurt 
her. I ain’t used to such low ways myself, an’ I ain’t 
nothin’ to be scared at neither.” 

“ These are country people, and I don’t suppose they 
ever saw a darkey before,” said Claire, soothingly. 
“You and Madelon got along together so well, that I 
had no idea there would be any difficulty here.” 

“ Eh ! Madelon has some gumption, but these Mun- 
sheers is jist a pack o’ fools. Whar’s my mistiss ? I’ll 
go an’ stay in her room, an’ that old goraff won’t come 
thar to order me out, I reckin.” 


168 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Yes, that will be best, come now, before mam- 
ma leaves her apartment, and I will explain what has 
happened.” 

Betty followed her from the room, uttering exclama- 
tions of surprise and delight as she passed through 
the different apartments and saw how elegantly they 
were fitted up. 

Mrs. Courtnay listened with some surprise and an- 
noyance, to a relation of what had passed between 
Betty and the housekeeper, she said : 

“ I suppose they have never seen a negro before, and 
of course their evidences of aversion were offensive to 
Betty. It will be best for her to remain in my dress- 
ing-room ; her bed can be made there, and her meals 
brought to her. Anything will be better than to have 
a constant turmoil among the servants on her ac- 
count.” 

“ She can stay there for the present, and I will see 
what can be done for her. I shall not feel satisfied if 
mammy cannot be made as comfortable in my house as 
she can be anywhere. Zolande does not know her 
place ; she presumes on having been the nurse of my 
brother, but I shall make her understand that my nurse 
is entitled to as much consideration in this house as 
she is.” 

Betty was left in solitary state in the bed-chamber, 
delighted with everything around her and willing to be 
alone that she might pry into drawers and armoires 
without being checked. 

Claire conducted her guests to the music-room, and 
induced Julia to play on the piano for her mother while 
she flitted to the house-keeper’s room to speak with 
her as to the treatment she should exact from her 
toward Betty. 


LIFE AT LATOUR. 


169 


As she expected, all the new servants were collect- 
ed there, actively discussing the barbarian who had 
been brought among them. Assuming all the dignity 
of which she was mistress, Claire spoke to them of 
the faithful services of Betty, and her own affection for 
her. She demanded that the old woman should be 
received among them, and treated with the kindness 
and consideration due to her, giving them plainly to 
understand that she would permit no other course of 
action among the new comers : as to Pierre and Zolande, 
they were family servants, and of course would main- 
tain the honor of the house by treating guests of every 
grade with the courtesy that was due to them. 

Pierre took it on himself to reply : 

“ I told my old woman that she was silly to mind 
what the negro said. Of course she is a savage, but 
we are civilized, and we’ll do what will please you, my 
lady. We was just talking it over when you came in, 
and we agreed that it wouldn’t do to leave the poor 
creature with nobody to talk to, even if she is a black- 
amoor. She’s very ugly, but there isn’t anything about 
her to scare one. I shall ask her to sit by me at the 
servant’s table, and you sha’n’t hear any more of this 
nonsense, Madame.” 

“ So much the better,” replied Claire. “ I do not 
wish to have to complain to my brother about so ab- 
surd a thing, and if no further offence is given, I will 
say nothing to him on the subject.” 

“ Thank you, my lady, that will be best. M. 
Armand would be angry that the woman who nursed 
you wasn’t considered fit to associate with such as us.” 

The result of this compact was that Betty received 
an apology which she loftily accepted ; the seat of 


170 THE discarded wife. 

honor on Pierre’s left hand was given to her at the 
servants’ table, and she gave such marvellous accounts 
of the land from which she came, that she soon be- 
came the centre of interest to those who had so lately 
shrunk from her as of a different species from them- 
selves. 

Elated by the consideration in which she was held, 
the old woman gave the reins to her imagination, and 
the wonderful stories she told of the land of her birth 
could only have been matched by those found in the 
adventures of Baron Munchausen. 

M. Latour came back in time for dinner, and the 
cordial pleasure he manifested in the society of his 
guests, made Mrs. Courtnay feel perfectly at home in 
his house. 

In the evening they had music, and when the two 
girls were tired of playing, they went out into the soft 
summer night, and promenaded on the terrace walk 
beneath the windows, leaving M. Latour and Mrs. 
Courtnay in earnest conversation. 

Their subject was Claire, and after returning his 
warmest thanks for all Mrs. Courtnay had done for 
his sister, Latour went on : 

“ The crowning grace, dear Madam, will now be to 
remain with us till Claire is fairly launched into 
society. A maternal friend will be invaluable to her, 
in her first season, yet she objects to having a stranger 
brought hither as a companion for her. Your son will 
not care to return to his native land till he has had 
time to recover from his recent disappointment ; he 
can visit those portions of Europe which are yet un- 
known to him, and carry back a store of observations 
that will be useful tp him throughout his future life. 


LIFE AT LATOUR. 


1T1 


Nothing dissipates sorrow like travel, I know from 
experience. While Mr. Courtnay pursues his, you can 
remain with your protegee, and guard her in her new 
career.” 

“ I would gladly do so if it were possible, for I feel 
the deepest interest in Claire, and I dread for her the 
unlimited freedom and indulgence you seem ready to 
grant her. She is too young to be left without some 
guiding hand to restrain her, yet I cannot, at present, 
see my way clear to becoming the friend you think 
she will need. I have been long absent from my 
home, and I fear that my return is almost a necessity. 
I shall, however, be guided by my son’s wishes. If 
he shrinks from going back at the time proposed, I 
must remain in Europe till he is ready to accompany 
me. Should Andrew wish to extend his travels, I will 
gladly accept the position of chaperon to my godchild. 
It is difficult to give her up, even to you, M. Latour, 
and but for this unfortunate infatuation on the part of 
my son, I should never have gained my own consent 
to do so.” 

“ I am not surprised at that, for Claire has already 
wound herself into my affections so deeply that I should 
have a hard struggle if I were called on to part from 
her. But she assures me that I shall never be re- 
quired to do that. Her unhappy experience has dis- 
gusted her with the thought of marriage, although I 
consider her free to form new ties if she can be won 
to love any other than the man who so basely treated 
her.” 

“ You believe as I do, then, that Claire still cher- 
ishes a tender feeling for Walter Thorne, in spite of 
his shameful conduct to her ? ” 


1T2 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“Iam afraid that, underlying all her bitterness and 
scorn for him, is the memory of what he once was to 
her. Claire is scarcely conscious of this, herself, but 
if such were not the fact, she would not so tenaciously 
cling to the hope that she shall be reclaimed by him. 
She declares that she would only return to Thorne to 
bring retribution to him ; but to accomplish that, she 
must deaden all the finer impulses of her nature and 
become what I should be sorry to believe she could 
ever be.” 

“ Claire must give up that fatal delusion, Monsieur. 
If she does not, it will become the bane of her life. I 
rejoice in the agreeable future opening before her, as 
the surest means of giving her a rational view of her 
actual position. When she is a brilliant and courted 
woman of society, the memory of those wretched days 
must gradually fade away. She will have no time to 
think of them, or to resent the wrong of which she 
was the victim.” 

“ She gave me a brief outline of her unhappy history, 
on the first evening we met, but it seemed to excite 
her so painfully to speak of those events, that I did 
not ask for details. But if you will give them, I shall 
be very glad to hear them.” 

Mrs. Courtnay commenced with the arrival of 
Thorne in the valley, and gave a clear account of all 
that had occurred during his stay. She excused Claire’s 
elopement by stating that the inexperienced child 
believed the consent given to her union with her lover 
by M. Lapierre, on the night of his decease, was suffi- 
cient sanction without appealing to herself. 

When she had finished, Latour thoughtfully said : 

“ It is a story which might be held up as a warning 


LIFE AT LATOUE. 


173 


to every willful and impulsive girl. I believe, after 
all, that our system is best. In your country too 
much freedom is granted to the young. In France, a 
child such as Claire then was, would be too strictly 
guarded to allow her the chance to experience a grand 
passion while she should have been occupied with her 
studies. I am only surprised that my father departed 
so far from the customs of his native land as to permit 
this stranger the opportunity to win her from him.” 

“ M. Lapierre was so situated that he could not pre- 
vent it. I received Mr. Thorne as my guest as soon 
as he would consent to be removed, but the mischief 
was then done. The young people had fallen irrevoca- 
bly in love with each other, for Walter Thorne was 
as deeply infatuated with Claire as a man can be. I 
have never doubted that he loved her truly and sin- 
cerely. I believe that he hoped to obtain the forgive- 
ness of his father for the step he took, though I must 
admit that he acted most dishonorably in showing 
forged letters to your father and myself.” 

“ If Thorne had been as sincere as you believe, do 
you think that he could have given his hand to another 
woman ? ” 

“ He was betrothed to Miss Willard before he met 
with Claire, and his father held him to his pledges 
under a threat of disinheritance. He was not a man 
who could make his way in the world, and when ruin 
stared him in the face, I suppose he thought it better 
to give up the choice of his own heart than to bring 
her to poverty. He knew nothing of you, or of Claire’s 
claims on you, or the result might have been different.” 

“I only wish he could have known how gladly I 
would have purchased happiness for my sister at any 


174 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


cost, for it is a fearful thing to have the heart thrown 
back upon itself, as hers has been. Badly as that 
man has acted, she loved him ; and he might have 
made her an affectionate and kind husband. As it is, 
she is cast a waif upon life, embittered against my 
sex, and ready to use her power to charm against the 
whole race of man. It is a dangerous career on which 
she is about to embark, but who can arrest her in it ?” 

“You alone possess that power, Monsieur. Your 
influence can accomplish a great deal with Claire, for 
she already loves and honors you almost as highly as 
she once did her father.” 

He shook his head sadly. 

“ I am but a dreamer, and not a man of society. It 
palled upon me long ago, and I gave it up. Claire will 
be the life and soul of scenes that would now only 
weary me ; and to others I must relinquish the task of 
guiding her through the maelstrom of fashion and folly 
into which she will so eagerly plunge. I can refuse 
her nothing that she desires, and I cannot assume the 
onerous character of Mentor to one whose tenderest 
affection I am so anxious to appropriate.” 

“ Yet it is your duty to guard her in every possible 
way.” 

“ Duty is a hard task-master,” he replied with a 
smile. “ I promise to do my best for her, but I cannot 
pledge myself to restrain her freedom in any way. 
She wishes to be presented to society as a widow, and 
that frees her from the trammels of young lady-hood at 
once. She also insists that the name of her husband 
shall not be entirely relinquished. She will call her- 
self Madame L’Epine : and, unable to resist her en- 
treaties, I have consented that she shall do so.” 


LIFE AT LATOUK. 


175 


Mrs. Courtnay listened in surprise. She said : 

“From that I perceive that Claire is as tenacious of 
her purpose as ever. The only hope I have to save 
her from herself is, in the long life of her rival. 
While Mrs. Thorne lives she will do nothing against her 
husband, for she asserts that all she desires is to have 
the legality of her own marriage declared among those 
who make up his world. She could very well afford 
to bear the censure of people she knows or cares little 
about, if she could be induced to think so.” 

“ I agree with you, and I shall make every effort to 
induce her to adopt our views on this subject. But 
'we must be very tender with her, Mrs. Courtnay ; she 
has suffered keenly, and no one can foretell what may 
yet be in reserve for her. I can never exercise author- 
ity over her, for she already winds me around her fin- 
gers, and does with me what she pleases. To strew 
flowers on her path shall be the aim of my life, and if 
I could pluck every thorn from them I would gladly 
do it. While I live I shall stand as a barrier between 
her and that man, even if his wife should die ; but 
when I am gone she must guide her own bark, either 
to shipwreck or safety. I can only pray that it may be 
the last.” 

With a faint smile, Mrs. Courtnay replied : 
j? “ I see plainly that you are as much the slave of this 
young creature as the most devoted of her adorers will 
be. She must possess some subtle charm for your sex 
that is inscrutable to ours, for she wins influence over 
every man that is thrown into intimate association with 
her. My poor boy has loved her from her childhood, 
yet I was blind enough to imagine that when she was 
placed beyond his reach, he would forget his early at- 


176 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


tachment to her. I will frankly say that, fond as I am 
of Claire, I did not wish her to become Andrew’s wife, 
for they possess too much of the same temperament to 
have been happy together. Yet perhaps it would have 
been better for both if fate had not thwarted their 
union.” 

“Perhaps so, but who can tell? We are but blind 
agents of destiny, and supreme intelligence alone can 
see what is for the best. We must leave results in the 
hand of God, and do what seems to us right.” 

At that moment Claire came in, followed by Julia. 
M. Latour asked for more music, and the three per- 
formed concerted pieces together — Claire on the harp, 
Julia the piano, and Latour on the violin. 

At a late hour the party separated for the night, and 
Julia held up her cheek to be kissed by her host, as she 
naively said : 

“ I like you, Monsieur, and you may kiss me as Uncle 
Lapierre used to when I was a good girl. I am going 
to make my beautiful bird sing his pretty song, and 
then pray to God to make you as happy as you have 
made me by your charming present. It is better than 
a live bird in a cage, for that might pine for freedom, 
but that this one likes his little nest is proved by his 
slipping back to it so nicely when his chant is ended.” 

“ I am glad you like your little toy, petite. Yes, 
pray for me, my child, for the prayers of such innocents 
as you are heard by Him who has said that the angels 
of little children are always near him.” 

He kissed the smooth cheek, pressed his lips to the 
brow of Claire, and offered his hand to Mrs. Courtnay. 

She smilingly said : 

“ Good-night. I have passed a most delightful day 


ON THE VICTIM’S TRAIL. 


1T7 


beneath your roof, M. Latour, and I have no doubt it 
will be followed by many others equally pleasant. I 
shall linger in these charming shades as long as I con- 
sistently can, and when I leave them I shall carry with 
me many agreeable memories.” 

“ The longer you remain with us, Madame, the bet- 
ter. I trust that your slumbers will be visited only by 
dreams as pleasant as your society has made the few 
past hours to me.” 

Claire accompanied Mrs. Courtnay to her chamber, 
where she found Betty in a state of great elation over 
the present of a poplin dress and a dozen silk handker- 
chiefs of gorgeous colors, which had been sent to her 
by the master of the house. 

Claire had talked to her brother much of her nurse ; 
and, with his usual thoughtful kindness, M. Latour had 
remembered the old woman, while in town, and had 
purchased for her what he thought would most please 
her fancy. 

Half an hour later the chateau was buried in repose, 
save the tower room. There the tireless experimenter 
resumed his labors until day was approaching, but 
with no more satisfactory result than before. 


CHAPTER IX. 

ON THE VICTIM’S TRAIL. 

I N the freedom of country life several weeks passed 
by very delightfully. Claire’s pony-carriage was 
sent out, and her brother taught her how to drive the 

11 


178 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


spirited little animals he had purchased for her. She 
and Julia also rode on horseback every evening, attend- 
ed by a smart groom who was attached to the especial 
service of his young mistress, and life seemed as sunny 
with them all as the bright summer days. 

At the end bf the third week Mrs. Courtnay began 
to feel anxious for a letter from her son, for she had 
not heard from him since he went away. But just at 
the right moment a communication came from Andrew, 
dated from Baden. A portion of it ran as follows : 

“ I am in better spirits than you may think possible, 
after what has happened so lately to depress and hu- 
miliate me ; I begin to see how stupidly persistent I 
was in the moonstruck madness that led me on in pur- 
suit of an ignis fatuus that must ever have eluded 
me. 

“ I am most thankful that I was saved in time from 
consummating the villainy I meditated toward Claire. 
She is better without me, as I am without her — I can 
see that very plainly now that my mental vision is 
clear again. 

“ My heart has gone back to its allegiance to the 
gentle and true woman who shall be my helpmate if 
she will forgive the inconstancy of which I have been 
guilty. I have written to Emma and told her the 
whole truth, and I am unwilling to return to Virginia 
before I hear from her. 

“ If you will consent to remain in France till spring 
opens, and allow me the liberty to roam about at my 
own will, I think I shall quite regain my true equilib- 
rium. Then, if Emma consents, I will go back and 
celebrate our marriage as soon as possible after my 


ON THE VICTIM’S TRAIL. 


179 


return. I will join you at the port of embarkation, for 
I do not wish ever to look upon the bewildering face of 
Claire again. Its wondrous charm has once made me 
untrue to my manhood, and I will not expose myself 
to the same temptation again. 

“ The picture I robbed you of I will restore to you, 
and you must keep it in some recess to which I shall 
never attempt to penetrate. Though it is not like her 
now, it might be a dangerous possession to me, and my 
future wife will scarcely like to see me glance toward it. 

“ I have not been tempted to play, though I am a 
frequent looker-on at the tables, where every mean and 
pitiful passion is illustrated by the flushed and greedy 
gamblers. From observation, I have learned many of 
the tricks practiced by them, but I should scorn to 
avail myself of them unless some good end was to be 
attained by doing so. 

“ I have had two letters from you since you went to 
Latour, and I cannot tell you how glad I am to know 
that Claire has fallen into the hands of so good and so 
noble a man as her brother must be. I hope you will 
enjoy your visit to the utmost, and I shall feel grateful 
to you if you will accept M. Latour’s proposal to ma- 
tronize Claire during the first few months of her 
novitiate in the fashionable world. It will be better 
for her, and at the same time afford me the opportunity 
I desire to travel more extensively than I have hitherto 
done. 

“I do not venture to send any message to Claire, so 
with much love to Julia, I am your affectionate son, 

“Andrew Courtnay.” 

Mrs. Courtnay read these lines with a lightened 


180 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


heart. She felt all her old confidence in their writer 
revive, and she immediately wrote to tell him that his 
request was granted, and she would remain in Europe 
till the following May. 

No one was more pleased with this decision than 
Latour, and he immediately began the improvements 
he was contemplating in his town residence. Every 
part of it was newly fitted up and furnished. No 
expense was spared, and the palace of Armida could 
scarcely have rivalled this modern one, in which a 
queen of beauty as fascinating as the fabled Circe was 
to hold her court. 

As the representative of an ancient family Latour 
had the entree to many of the best houses in Paris, and 
the liberal use he made of his money gave him a pres- 
tige for which good blood alone would not have suf- 
ficed. 

When the gay season fairly opened, Claire found 
herself installed as the mistress of a splendid establish- 
ment, the cynosure of a brilliant circle which soon 
elected her as its especial idol, and if ever the head of 
a girl of eighteen was turned by flattery, hers was in 
danger of being so. 

She lived like one in an enchanted dream, and for a 
season she almost forgot the blight that had fallen on 
her young life. With perfect health, gay spirits and 
careless heart, she quaffed from the intoxicating cup 
offered her only the sparkling foam that exhilarated 
her pulses, and made life seem one long dream of tri- 
umphant joy. She did not believe that the lees of that 
cup could ever be reached by her, or prove bitter to 
the taste, if by chance they mingled with the magic 
draught. 


ON THE VICTIM’S TRAIL. 


181 


Mrs. Courtnay spent a most agreeable season with 
her protegee, and hoped that in its progress she had 
succeeded in giving Claire proper ideas of what her 
future course should be. She submitted gracefully to 
be ruled by her adopted mother while she remained 
with her, and she wept many bitter tears when the 
final parting came. With a divided heart Julia clung 
to her early playmate, for she was eager to go back to 
her plantation home again, though she shrank from 
parting with her darling Claire. 

Old Betty was in much the same state of feeling, but 
she was consoled for leaving the young lady behind, by 
thinking of the grandeur of her lot, and of how many 
wonderful things she would have to tell her cronies 
when she returned home ; besides displaying to them 
the many handsome and valuable presents made her by 
her nurse-child and her brother. 

Andrew joined his mother at Havre, and they 
crossed the ocean in safety. 

Four months later the announcement of Courtnay’s 
marriage with Emma Carleton came to Claire, and she 
rejoiced that he had at last reached the calm haven of 
matrimonial happiness with a wife who would know 
how to soothe the tempestuous promptings of his 
nature, and make him see how beautiful it is to dwell 
in harmony with those we love. 

Before leaving Claire, Mrs. Courtnay insisted that a 
companion of mature years must be found for her, as 
she was too young, and far too admired, to be left with- 
out a female guardian. 

After considerable opposition from her, the cousin 
Latour had referred to on the first evening they met, 
was invited to take up her abode with them. Madame 


182 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Laroche was a childless widow of thirty, with limited 
means, and great ambition to shine in society. Of 
course she eagerly accepted the position offered her in 
her cousin’s family, though in some respects she Avas 
unworthy of the confidence he reposed in her. 

She was facile, anxious to please the young autocrat 
on whose fiat she knew depended her enjoyment of 
the luxury she prized beyond everything, and she 
spared no efforts to win the confidence and affection of 
her new charge. 

Madame Laroche was still a very handsome woman, 
with the graceful address and adroit management of a 
thorough Parisienne, and she soon made herself almost 
necessary to Claire, who found it very charming to be 
flattered and approved of, instead of finding herself 
restrained within certain limits, as had been the case 
while Mrs. Courtnay was near her. 

Her brother, absorbed in his unsuccessful experi- 
ments, yielded her entirely to the influence of her new 
companion, scarcely deeming it necessary to utter a 
caution to Madame Laroche as to what was expected 
of her in that capacity. 

The result was that Claire pursued the career she 
had marked out for herself, Avithout a remonstrance 
being uttered. It is true that she made little effort to 
attract admiration, but Avith her transcendant beauty, 
her wit, and reputed fortune, that was not necessary. 

No Avoman of her day was so much admired, and the 
conquests and caprices of la belle Americaine, became 
in a feAv years the gossip of the most exclusive circles 
of society. 

Madame L’Epine also traveled extensively, and be- 
came a European celebrity. Claire enjoyed her sue- 


ON THE VICTIM’S TRAIL. 


183 


cess as thoroughly as the aspirants for fame in any 
other walks in life would have done. She smiled on 
all alike, but gave decided encouragement to none ; 
the love so lightly won, was as lightly cast away 
despite the agonies of her lovers, and they found it 
poor consolation to be told in her most dulcet tones 
that she had passed through the same ordeal herself, 
and bore within her a scathed heart, in which no buds 
of passion could ever again germinate. 

The discarded suitors often consoled themselves by 
confiding their troubles to Madame Laroche, and she 
had tact enough to make friends of them all. “ Catch a 
heart in the rebound,” was illustrated by her, and 
more than one of Claire’s discarded suitors would have 
made himself happy with the fair companion, if she 
had only possessed the fortune they needed. 

She once laughingly said to her young friend : 

“ I once saw a notice of the strange names belong- 
ing to an American firm, which made me laugh., but I 
think you and I illustrate them.” 

“ What were they ? ” asked Claire. 

“U. Cheatem and I. Ketchum. Your lovers turn 
from your delusive smiles, and end by making love to 
me — ha ! ha ! ” 

“ So much the better for us both, for we find the 
amusement and excitment we need in playing into each 
other’s hands. As to the professions of men, I have 
no faith in any of them, though I sometimes think 
they act the part of despairing lovers to perfection. 
Heigho ! I wonder how long this life of luxurious en- 
chantment can last.” 

“ As long as youth, wealth, and the power of enjoy- 
ment last,” was the reply. “ Make the most of the 


184 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


present, and cast care to the winds, is my rule of action. 
When it comes, it is time enough to examine its hide- 
ous features.” 

“ That is good philosophy, and we live in such a 
whirl of excitement that we have no time to think of 
possibilities. But I am troubled about one thing, 
Leonie. Don’t you think that, of late, my brother 
looks depressed and worn ? I begin to feel anxious 
about him.” 

“ Yes ; Armand has changed much, but I scarcely 
wonder at that. He passes nearly all his time in that 
dreary old tower, seeking after the unattainable ; and 
when he comes in town and joins us, his mind is so 
filled with his failures that he has no heart to enjoy 
anything. Since you have spoken of this, my dear, I 
will say to you that Armand is wasting more gold in 
his experiments than he is ever likely to gain from their 
results. His mania, for I can give it no other name, 
may yet absorb the whole of his fortune. Had you 
not better speak with him on this subject and use your 
influence to induce him to abandon his ruinous pur- 
suit ? ” 

“ I have often done so, without any result. Armand 
always insists that he is on the eve of realizing his 
dream and one more effort must bring success. It is 
the old fable of Tantalus brought into action in a most 
painful and fatal form. I would risk a great deal to 
rescue my brother from his delusion, but I feel that it 
will be impossible to do so. If he ruins himself, there 
is still my settlement left, and we can live together 
on that very comfortably.” 

Madame Laroche shrugged her shoulders. 

“ You spend every year much more than your in- 


ON THE VICTIM’S TRAIL. 


185 


come on your toilette, besides other extravagances of 
which you are guilty. How could you give up the 
state in which you have so long lived, and come down 
to the necessity of considering whether you can afford 
a luxury that you have now only to wish for and pos- 
sess ? ” 

Claire smiled faintly, as she replied : 

“ If Armand could bear his disappointment, I could 
bear the loss of what I do not deny I highly value. 
As far as lay in his power, he has gratified every wish 
of my heart, and for years I have enjoyed the brilliant 
position he has given me. In my turn, I would do 
something for him, if I could ; but if he fails at last, 
he will not long survive it. His noble and generous 
heart will break when he finds his efforts are vain to 
win the stake on which he has set all his hopes. I own 
to you that I tremble for the result.” 

“ Then try to avert it, Claire. You can save him, 
if any one can, for he can refuse nothing to you. The 
remnant of his fortune may yet be rescued from that 
insatiate furnace, and with it, perhaps, Armand’s rea- 
son and life. I speak strongly, for I believe all are 
staked on the desparate game he has played so long.” 

Claire raised herself from the sofa on which she had 
been reclining while they talked together, and with a 
startled look asked : 

“ What reason have you for speaking thus, Leonie ? 
What do you know of my brother’s affairs ? ” 

“ I know that he has withdrawn large sums from 
the capital he has invested in the bank, and his part- 
ner has more than once remonstrated with him. I 
have this from M. Lemoine himself, and he asked me 
to speak to you, and see if you would use your influ- 


186 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


ence with Armand to give up the fire demon that is 
devouring this property. A million has been consumed 
in its remorseless depths, without yielding any result ; 
as much more has been spent in maintaining the style 
in which we live, and of the three millipns he brought 
back with him from China but one is left.” 

Claire laughed : 

“ But one million — you talk as if that is poverty.” 

“ But I am not speaking of dollars, remember. It 
is of francs, and it takes nearly five of them to make 
a dollar.” 

“ After spending so many of them, I think I ought 
to know that,” was the half mocking rejoinder. 
“ Brought down to dollars, my brother still has an 
independent fortune, and I, the creature of his bounty, 
cannot presume to dictate to him how it shall be used ; 
I have already said as much to him on this subject as 
I dare to say, but I found him so wedded to his belief 
in ultimate success, that nothing I can urge will turn 
him from his purpose. My only hope for him lies in 
the accomplishment of his dream, and after all it may 
not be impracticable. He declares that he saw the 
transmutation of metals effected, and although he has 
hitherto missed the exact combinations, he still believes 
that what another has done he can do if he perse- 
veres.” 

“ So have believed all those who have walked on the 
same fatal path before,” was the reply. “ When it is 
too late you will regret that you did not attend to my 
warning.” 

“ Why, what can I do ? ” asked Claire,- impatiently. 
Have I not explained to you that on this point I am 
powerless? If I asked Armand to surrender his life 


ON THE VICTIM’S TRAIL. 


187 


to me, he would do it sooner than relinquish the pur- 
suit that gives it all its charm. He is not like you 
and me. He cares nothing for the triumphs of society ; 
they would bore him to death. He is a philanthro- 
pist ; he gives now most munificently, and he seeks 
boundless wealth that he may lift up the down-trodden 
and make the hearts of the toilers of the earth sing 
for joy. That is his dream, and it is worth some sacri- 
fice if it can only be realized. I only wish I was half 
as good as my brother. I fritter away my life in the 
idle pursuits of fashion, while he devotes his to a great 
and noble purpose. It may fail of accomplishment, 
but it is not the less grand for that.” 

“But the result of the failure to him, Claire. Think 
of that.” 

“ No — why should I till it comes ? I am not given 
to anticipate evil, and in place of wailing over 
defeat, we may yet crown him with a wreath of immor- 
telles for his wonderful discovery. If the worst should 
come, as I said before, I have enough for both of 
us. I have still before me a few years of splendor, 
and by the time the end comes, if come it does, it may 
have begun to pall upon me. In fact, I feel, at inter- 
vals, slight premonitions of weariness now.” 

She arose as she finished speaking, and moved list- 
lessly toward an open window. Madame Laroche 
looked after her somewhat anxiously. For years they 
had pursued the gay career in which both so delighted, 
and this was the first evidence of satiety on the part 
of her fair friend. Claire was still as brilliant and 
fascinating, as much sought after as in the early days 
of her triumphs, and this was the first indication of 
weariness her companion had detected. 


188 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


She began to seek for its cause, and wondered if a 
letter from Virginia which came that morning had pro- 
duced this state of feeling. 

If Madame Laroche could have read the contents 
of that missive she would have found the clue to what 
puzzled her. It was from Andrew Courtnay ; the first 
he had written to Claire since his return home, and it 
was filled with matter which brought back to her heart 
in all its intensity that dream of retribution which had 
now so long lain in abeyance. 

Nearly ten years had passed since the marriage of 
Andrew, and he had sons and daughters growing up 
around him in the old homestead, himself a contented 
and useful man. Yet in the depths of his heart 
lingered a grudge against the man who had stolen 
Claire from her home only to outrage and insult her ; 
and the promise he had made to assist her to gain her 
revenge had never been forgotten. 

Courtnay was now the member of Congress from his 
district, and soon after his arrival in Washington, he 
met with the man he most loathed on earth. Walter 
Thorne was leading a fast life, and his domestic 
unhappiness was the cause assigned by his friends for 
his reckless career. 

He gambled with a species of furore ; sometimes 
winning, but often losing large sums. Courtnay 
rarely played himself, though he was skillful in most 
games of chance ; but, hearing so much of Thorne’s wild 
betting, the thought struck him that he might render 
it subservient to Claire’s plans. What they were he 
did not know, but he could, at least, offer such atone- 
ment as lay in his power, for his own conduct to her, 
by fulfilling the promise he had given in their last 
interview. 


ON THE VICTIM’S TRAIL. 


189 


The letter will best explain the rest. It ran thus : 

Washington, March 1, 18 — 

“ My Dear Claire : — After so many years of 
silence on my part, I again venture to address you 
with the old familiarity of our early days. I write now 
to tell you that I have not been forgetful of the pledge I 
gave you in our last painful interview ; but I will go 
at once to the point, and show you why I have broken 
my long silence. 

“You are aware that I am serving my first term in 
Congress ; and in this city I have found the man I 
once thought I could never meet without seeking to 
destroy. 

“ Those evil passions are happily set at rest, thanks 
to the sweet influences that surround me in my home, 
but all the evil in me is not eradicated, as will be 
proved by what I am about to tell you. 

“ I may be doing wrong in placing this power in 
your hands, but it seems to me a sort of justice that is 
due you, however much it may be condemned by those 
who have never been tempted to the commission of a 
wrong. 

“ But to my story. Your false lover is, it seems, 
most unhappy in the marriage he made at his father’s 
command, and he consoles himself for domestic troubles 
by rushing, at intervals, into the wildest dissipation. 

“ Thorne has been in this city several months, risking 
nightly at the gaming-table the fortune he secured 
by giving you up. His passion for high play amounts 
almost to insanity, and, hearing so much of his reck- 
lessness, I went one evening to a fashionable saloon to 
watch him. 


190 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ He had won largely before I became a spectator, 
but, after looking on a while, I was seized with an 
uncontrollable desire to stake my skill and luck against 
his. I rarely play, for when I do I nearly always win, 
and I feel as if I have robbed my antagonist when his 
money, thus gained, passes into my hands. 

“ I confess to you, however, that on this occasion, I 
had no such scruples. I sat down to beggar that man, 
and, before the night was over, I succeeded. 

“ Yes — I won everything Walter Thorne could call 
his own. 

“ At first he played cautiously enough, but, as the 
tide turned against him, he became desperate ; betted 
wildly, risking thousands on a card, until his last cent 
was swept away. He arose, ghastly pale, and declared 
himself ruined. We were almost alone in the room, 
for others had dropped off as the hours waned ; I also 
arose, and went out with him. 

“ He hoarsely said, as we gained the street : 

“ ‘ Come with me to my room, and I will give you a 
bond that will cover my whole estate. Of course you 
will sell it, and dispossess me at once.’ 

“‘We will talk of that presently, Mr. Thorne,’ I 
replied ; and I went with him to the expensive apart- 
ments he occupied. V 

“ The enclosed bond for eighty thousand dollars was 
then executed. He did not know who had been his 
antagonist till I told him my name ; and I shall never 
forget the glare of rage that shone in his eyes, as he 
said : 

“ ‘ You have dogged my steps, sir, that you might 
gratify an old grudge, by bringing me to beggary, and 
now you seek to gloat over the agony of a man in my 
condition.’ 


ON THE VICTIM’S TRAIL. 


191 


“ ‘It is not for such a purpose as that tt^at I came 
hither,’ I replied ; 4 and if you will listen to me, you 
will see that your condition is not so desperate as you 
suppose. I shall accept the bond for the large sum I 
have won, but with no view of using it myself; nor 
will it be brought forward by any one so long as your 
wife lives." 

“ He flashed a lightning glance upon me, and asked : 

“ ‘ What do you mean, sir ? Why should the life of 

woman I care little enough about stand between 
myself and ruin ? * 

44 I answered, 4 1 do not choose to explain ; let the 
fact suffice. Return to your home, give up the vice 
you no longer possess the means to gratify, and I repeat, 
as long as Agnes Thorne lives, you are master of your 
estate. At her death, you may hear from this paper, 
but not before. I wish you good-night, sir.’ 

44 1 hastily left the room ; he called after me, but I 
would not return ; and I evaded an effort he made to 
see me the next day. On the following one he left 
Washington, and I have heard nothing from him since. 

44 1 transfer to you the bond; it pledges Thornhill 
for the payment of the money, and you are at liberty 
to use it as you please when your rival is no longer in 
your way. 

44 Although I have done this, Claire, for the sake of 
my promise to you, I sincerely hope that the life of that 
unhappy lady may outlast your own, that you may not 
be tempted to use the power I give you in any way. 

44 1 have found happiness in a suitable marriage, and 
so might you if you would put aside that one fatal 
remembrance and allow your heart to open to the 
influences of affection. We are a very happy house- 


192 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


hold at the Grange, and I grudge every day I am forced 
to spend from beneath its roof. 

“ My mother, as serenely handsome as ever, is the 
most devoted of grand-dames to my children ; the 
boys are her especial pets, while my little daughter is 
the dainty darling of my heart. My sweet wife was 
generous enough to call her Clara, although she knew 
the whole history of that old love for you, and my pet 
is as dear to Emma as if she did not bear the name of 
her former rival. 

“Julia’s successful career as the belle of the county 
will soon come to a close, as she has at last accepted 
Charles Berkeley, and they will be married in May. 
She has, doubtless, written to you herself and informed 
you of the change she is about to make in her condi- 
tion. 

“ You may remember Berkely as a lad in jackets 
who used to haunt the Grange when J ulia was a child. 
He has served as long for his wife as Jacob agreed to 
serve for his, though he was cheated after the Israelitish 
fashion. Since Julia was fifteen, he has been her most 
devoted adorer, and she will be twenty-two this month. 

“ I am very well pleased with her choice ; Berkeley 
is a clever fellow, and sufficiently rich for every 
rational want. They seem to be much attached to 
each other, and my mother is satisfied because she 
thinks they suit each other. You know she has a 
theory on the subject of matrimonial alliances, and I 
am half inclined to give into it, since the match she 
induced me to make has conduced so much to my 
happiness and well-being. 

“ Emma is the very person I needed to temper my 
wild nature and make me ashamed to yield to the 


ON THE VICTIM’S TRAIL. 


193 


outbursts of passion that once made me so detestable 
a companion. She has sense and spirit enough of 
her own, and I find her b}^ no means an uninteresting 
life-mate, as, I frankly own, I once feared she might 
prove. 

“ The latent strength of her character and her many 
gentle ways of winning influence over me were unsus- 
pected, till after she became my wife. Then I found 
her a charming study, and, in seeking to understand, I 
learned to love her with all my heart. 

“ I tell you this, because I know it will rejoice you 
to know that the woman I have made my own, claims 
not only my deepest respect but my tenderest affection. 

“ Adieu, Claire. Remember me to that good brother 
of yours, and thank him, even at this late hour, for 
rescuing us both from the wretched fate I was so 
anxious to force upon you. If I were with the dear 
ones at home, innumerable messages would be sent ; 
but as I am here in solitary state, you must take them 
on trust. That you may be as happy as I am, is the 
earnest prayer of your friend, 

“Andrew Cottrtnay.” 

All the long-buried past rushed over Claire when she 
read those lines, and examined the paper which they 
enclosed. Her old desire to bring home to the man 
who had so bitterly deceived her the humiliation she 
had herself endured, awoke in full force, and she 
exultingly thought the means were furnished, if the 
woman who had usurped her place were only removed 
by death. 

Claire had always felt the conviction that Agnes 
would die before her own charms were faded ; there 
12 


194 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


was a vague notion of eternal justice in her warped 
mind which afforded her the assurance that, even on 
earth, Walter Thorne must meet punishment for his 
faithless desertion of the child who had trusted herself 
to his honor, and from whose hand should the retribu- 
tive blow come if not from hers ? 

Claire had kept up a correspondence, at long intervals 
with Miss Digby, and from her letters she knew that 
little peace was found at Thornhill : that its mistress 
had faded and grown querulous beneath the open neg- 
lect of her husband. She gathered these facts from 
chance expressions used by the writer of the letters, for 
Miss Digby was very careful to say as little as possible 
about Walter Thorne and his affairs. It was only in 
reply to direct questions from Claire that any informa- 
tion was given at all. 

Now she held in her possession the power to ruin 
him — to wrest from him the fortune for which he had 
sacrificed her, and a fierce joy thrilled through her 
veins. She asked herself: 

“ How long — how long must I hold this, without 
acting on it ? Andrew has nobly atoned for his futile 
attempt to force me to become his wife, and I am now 
glad it was made. But for that he would never have 
served me in this questionable manner. I wonder if 
Walter Thorne dreams of the use to which his bond 
may be put ? The saving clause may enlighten him, 
but if it does, he cannot evade the ruin that shall yet 
overtake him. I must stifle this yearning for immedi- 
ate action, and wait, as I have so long done. My hour 
must come, though I can do nothing to hasten its 
advent.” 

Claire put away the paper in a secure place, and re- 


ON THE VICTIM’S TRAIL. 195 

plied to Courtnay’s letter, earnestly thanking him for 
the service he had rendered her. What she intended 
to do with the bond she did not hint, but she confessed 
to him that, if death dissolved the ties that bound 
Thorne to Agnes, she should certainly feel at liberty to 
use the power which had been placed in her hands to 
its fullest extent. 

When her letter was finished and sent away, Claire 
remembered what Madame Laroche had said of her 
brother’s affairs, and, ordering the carriage, she drove 
out alone to Latour, where he had been staying almost 
constantly for the last few months. 

It was now the middle of April, and the place 
was in its new dress of tender verdure, but Claire 
noted little of its beauty, for her eyes were sadly fixed 
on the cloud of smoke which arose from the tower 
chimney, and she thought with regret of the fruitless 
toil endured by the brother to whom she had given all 
the affection she believed herself capable of feeling. 

Claire had often ventured to remonstrate with La- 
tour on his unremitting devotion to the experiments 
which cost him so much, and thus far had yielded him 
nothing save disappointment; but he would not on 
this point be influenced by her. He was never dis- 
heartened by his failures. Like the phoenix, his beau- 
tiful dream of becoming the benefactor of mankind, 
arose from the ashes of his lost hopes, ready to com- 
mence anew the labor which would have been as dis- 
heartening as that of Sysiphus to any one less infatua- 
ted than was this seeker after the unattainable. 

Claire had passed a portion of every year at Latour, 
and the place was dear to her as the home in which 
she had first learned to know and love her brother. 


196 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Through all the years they had lived together, a harsh 
or impatient word had never passed his lips, though on 
occasion he could be stern enough to others. 

Latour evidently regarded her as a sacred bequest 
from the father whose memory he tenderly revered in 
spite of the long injustice he had endured from him, 
and he permitted Claire to make herself happy in her 
own way regardless of cost to himself. She knew that 
her brother’s annual expenses were doubled by her 
residence with him, and she felt a little compunction 
when she remembered how recklessly she had squan- 
dered money since she had been with him. 

Her brother had never checked her in any way, and 
he also lavished most expensive presents on herself and 
Madam Laroche. In fact, the latter had saved quite a 
little fortune from Latour’s munificence since she had 
been the companion of his sister, and hence arose her 
desire to save him from the ruin she saw looming in 
the distance. Her luxurious home and large salary 
were Loo important to her to be risked on the faint 
chances of success in discovering the secret he had so 
long and vainly sought. 

Claire could have scarcely explained to herself the 
object she had in view in seeking her brother on this 

afternoon. As she had said, she dared not venture 

\ 

on any further remonstrance, for she had already 
said as much as he would listen to, without producing 
any result. Failure seemed only to add strength to 
Latour’s convictions that he should yet triumph. If 
this absorbing, yet baffling pursuit were taken from him, 
Claire felt that his occupation would indeed be gone, 
and all interest in life for him destroyed ; so with a 
sigh she thought the residue of his fortune must van- 
ish as so much of it had already gone — in smoke. 


A CATASTROPHE. 


197 


CHAPTER X. 

A CATASTROPHE. 

C LAIRE alighted from the carriage and went in, 
intending to go at once to the tower, but Zolande, 
now bent with age, met her in the vestibule, and said : 

44 How do you do, my lady ? I declare you are as 
fresh and bright as the first day you came through that 
door holding M. Armand’s hand, but he’s changed as 
much as me, though he is so much younger than I be.” 

44 1 have observed it, Zolande, and I came out in the 
hope that I can entice my brother back to town with 
me.” 

44 You had better not interrupt him, my lady, for he 
gave strict orders to let no one go up.” 

44 1 cannot go back without seeing my brother,” said 
Claire. 44 1 am always admitted when I go to him, 
and he will not refuse me now. I am uneasy about 
him, and I must see him.” 

The old woman shook her head, but she made no 
further opposition, and Claire passed through the long 
dark passage which led to the tower, and ascended the 
steps. 

When she gained the door, she hesitated a moment, 
but finally struck a peculiar rap upon it which always 
announced her presence to Latour. 

She could hear the roar of the furnace, and knew 
that some important process was going on, but she 
knocked again when she found the first summons 
unheeded, and made an effort to turn the handle of the 
ponderous lock. 


198 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


In another moment the door was unclosed’ a few 
inches, and a stifling blast of heated air rushed out, 
heavy with the fumes of the chemicals Latour had 
been using. She had a glimpse of him in a glass mask, 
and after an energetic motion of refusal, he closed the 
aperture, and fastened the lock on the inside. 

Claire recoiled from the vapors that had escaped 
from the closed room, and leaned sick and faint against 
the wall. The next moment there was an explosion, 
the tower was shaken to its foundations, and the con- 
cussion tore open the heavy door. 

Claire was frightened, but not stunned, and she had 
the courage to rush into the room which was filled to 
suffocation with the smoke that escaped from a rent 
in the furnace. Her brother lay on the floor, his mask 
shattered, and his cheek bleeding from a cut from the 
broken glass. Fortunately he was near the door, and 
she exerted all her strength to drag him from the 
tower into the purer atmosphere without. 

By the time she had succeeded in doing this, the 
servants had rushed up the stairs to see what had hap- 
pened, and one of them lifted the insensible form of 
his master, and bore him down to the lower part of the 
house. 

Claire followed in a tremor of fear and anxiety, but 
when Latour was placed on a sofa, and cold water 
poured over his face and head, he began to revive. He 
presently sat up, and asked in a bewildered manner : 

“ What has happened ? Who brought me here, and 
why do you all look so much alarmed ? ” 

• “ Dear Armand,” said Claire, speaking with effort, 
“you have had a very narrow escape. If I had not 
been near you, you might have lost your life. I 


A CATASTROPHE. 


199 


dragged you out of that dreadful room and Francois 
brought you down. Something blew up, and there is 
a hole in the furnace ; the glass things are all shat- 
tered, but you are safe, thank Heaven !” 

Latour covered his face with his hands, and his 
form shook with repressed emotion. He presently 
looked up and said : 

“ I remember all now. It was a new combination ; 
all was going on well, when I left my work an instant 
to warn you away. Oh, Claire, your inopportune 
visit has snatched from me the fruition of my long 
cherished hopes. Success was almost within my 
grasp, and now it must all be done over again.” 

With a gesture of command and a few words Claire 
dismissed the gaping domestics, and then sat down by 
the side of her brother, and took his hand. She softly 
said : 

“ It may be as you say, Armand ; but I think a kind 
providence sent me hither to rescue you from death. 
If you had been left to breathe that pestilent atmos- 
phere a few moments longer you must have perished. 
I feel faint and sick now from the effect of what I in- 
haled. I do not wonder that you are old before your 
time, leading the life you do in the pursuit of a phan- 
tom that ever eludes you. Dear brother, from this 
day let the fires go out forever, do not repair the dam- 
age that has been done ; but give up this wild dream, 
and consent to live among men again, sharing the pur- 
suits of ordinary life.” 

Latour was indeed old before his time. The years 
that had passed so lightly over Claire, had silvered his 
hair to perfect whiteness, had stamped the wrinkles of 
extreme old age upon his brow, and bent his slender 


200 


THE DISCAEDED WIFE. 


form as with the burden of a century. Yet he had 
lost little of his activity, and his mind was as clear and 
determined as ever, and Claire found it impossible to 
change his purpose. 

After a prolonged discussion, he announced his deter- 
mination to “ repair damages,” and arising, he drew 
Claire after him, and together they ascended to the 
scene of the late disaster. 

By this time the room was clear of smoke, though 
there was still a nauseous taint in the atmosphere 
from the exploded chemicals ; every pane of glass in 
the narrow windows was shattered ; the fire in the fur- 
nace had been extinguished just in time to prevent the 
floor from burning, and two men were still actively at 
work clearing up the debris and making everything 
safe. 

The chemical apparatus was a perfect wreck, and 
Latour ordered the whole to be removed at once. A 
few hours’ work would, he declared, put the furnace 
in working order again, and with restored spirits he 
went down to make his toilette for the proposed drive 
to Paris. 

As they sat together in the carriage, Claire told him 
of Andrew Courtnay’s letter and its strange enclosure. 
He listened with a clouded brow, and when she had 
finished, said: 

“ It was very ill-judged in Courtnay to re-open that 
old wound. Thorne is nothing to you after the lapse 
of all these years ; and although a kind of poetic jus 1 
tice might be attained in case of his wife’s death, if 
you chose to strip him of the wealth for which he sac- 
rificed you, still I think it will be better for your wel- 
fare here and hereafter, to have nothing to do with 


A CATASTKOPHE. 


201 


that unprincipled man. Destroy the bond, Claire, and 
think no more of it.” 

A faint but very bitter smile curled her lip. 

44 It can do no harm to keep it, Armand. I may 
find a use for it in the future, though as long as my 
rival lives, of course I can do nothing with it.” 

44 Then I can only hope that she may live to the age 
of Methusalah, or at least longer than you do. In the 
brilliant life I have given you, Claire, I thought all 
memory of that old bitterness was buried beneath the 
triumphs you have won. You are very precious to 
me, my dear, and it pains me to know that you still 
carry in your heart that fatal longing for revenge. Is 
it the course of our blood that we can never forgive 
nor forget ? ” 

She slowly replied : 

4 4 Underlying all my gayety, running through all 
brightness of my life for the past ten years, was the 
dark thread of destiny that binds me to Walter Thorne. 
Something tells me that his wife will not live many 
more years, though I assure you I would do nothing to 
hasten her doom if I could. When she is gone I shall 
play the part of Nemesis to him. I could no more live 
without that hope than you can without your absorb- 
ing pursuit of that which, I fear, will never be won.” 

44 If such are your feelings, it is useless to argue with 
you. I can only hope that a good providence will 
prolong the life of Walter Thorne’s guardian angel till 
the last, feeling of rancor has died out in your heart. 
Time is a wonderful teacher, Claire, and as the fire in 
your blood chills with advancing years, you will see 
how impotent we are to attain that which God em- 
phatically forbade when he said, 4 Yengence is mine.' ” 


202 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ That may be, but God uses earthly instruments to 
work out his will, and to my hand will be delegated 
the task of punishing the treachery of which I was the 
victim.” 

Nothing more was said till they reached the end of 
their drive, and Latour went at once upon the errand 
that brought him to town. 

By the next evening the tower was again in readi- 
ness for new experiments, and they were commenced 
more vigorously than ever, though with no better suc- 
cess. 


CHAPTER XI, 


LATOUR S DEATH. 



S time passed on, Claire almost forgot the exis- 


JTjl tence of the bond which had re-awakened all her 
old resentment against the man she still persisted in 
calling her husband. 

All the homage offered her had proved powerless to 
shake her determination to retain the shadowy relation 
she held toward him. It really seemed as if what she 
had said of herself was true — that her dead heart could 
never love again ; for amid the throng of adorers that 
followed her steps and hung enchanted on her words, 
not one had been able to elicit more than a passing 
feeling of interest. 

Even that she promptly repressed, for the purpose 
of her life always arose before her when she was, for 
an instant, tempted to abandon it. Her temperament 


LATOUR’S DEATH. 


203 


was elastic, and she had a passionate fondness for the 
pleasures of social life, but the vengeful taint in her 
blood only slumbered to be aroused at the slightest 
touch. 

After the accident at Latour, the old life was resumed 
and flowed on as brilliantly and extravagantly as if no 
premonition of ruin loomed darkly before the actors 
in it. 

After that conversation with her brother, Claire 
would have made some efforts at retrenchment, but 
Latour steadily refused to allow any innovation to be 
made, declaring that his wealth must soon become ex- 
haustless, and while he possessed the means to keep up 
the state in which she lived, no change should be 
made. 

Claire was forced to acquiesce, but she comforted 
herself with the thought that if the worst came,' she 
possessed the means to rescue him from poverty. 

Among her numerous admirers, but one had annoyed 
her with persistent efforts to win her. This was a 
Russian Baron reputed to be enormously wealthy, who 
for the last three years of her life had been the slave 
of her every caprice. Poliansky wooed in the Cos- 
sack style, and refused to be distanced or discouraged. 
He followed the object of his adoration everywhere — 
threatened vengeance against his rivals, and amused 
the fair coquette by his violence, though he did not win 
a high place in her good graces by the follies of which 
he was guilty on her account. 

The Baron was no longer } r oung, but he declared that 
la belle American was his first love, and win her he 
must and would. Claire laughed at his protestations 
— made herself merry with his peculiarities, and recom- 


204 


THE DISGAEDED WIFE. 


mended him to console himself by making love to her 
companion, who would have no objection to live in 
Russia. As to herself, she shivered at the mere thought 
of that cold and inhospitable climate, and nothing 
should induce her to trust herself in it. 

One day Poliansky shrugged his shoulders and 
brusquely replied : 

“ The time for it will come, Madame. You love 
splendor — you cannot exist without excitement, and 
the day approaches in which you can command neither, 
except through a wealthy marriage. M. Latour’s fur- 
nace is devouring the last remnant of his fortune ; all 
the world knows that, and when it is gone you will 
listen to me.” 

She flushed slightly and disdainfully replied : 

44 I have an ample settlement of my own, Baron, so 
I shall not be compelled to do violence to my feelings 
to retain the splendor you think I valued so highly. 
My poor brother’s delusion may only end with, his ruin, 
but I have enough for both of us.” 

Poliansky fixed his deep-set small blue eyes upon 
her face, and half contemptuously asked : 

“ What is such a bagatelle as thirty thousand francs 
a year to such a woman as you ? You can spend that 
in a month. Your friend has told me that such is your 
income, but as my wife, you may spend ten, twenty 
times as much, and your jewels shall rival those of 
crowned heads. My family diamonds are worth a 
fabulous sum, and for you, my queen of hearts, they 
shall be reset, and you shall yet shine in Ihem at the 
court of the great Nicholas.” 

44 My dear Baron, cast that hope aside, for you will 
find it a vain one. I 'am half tempted to tell you a 


LATOUR’S DEATH. 205 

secret that I have sacredly guarded ; from it you would 
learn that I cannot become your wife.” 

44 If the confidence is to sever us, I do not wish to 
possess it, Madame. I will cling to my hopes ; I will 
trample on impossibilities to realize them.” 

44 You had better be warned in time, and look else- 
where for one to share the magnificent destiny you 
offer me. I assure you that if it were ever possible for 
me to accept it, I should decline.” 

“Wait till you are reduced to your petty income, 
and find yourself compelled to resign the position in 
the world of fashion which }^ou have so long held. 
Stars do not fall without losing their brilliancy, and 
you could never bear to be shorn of yours. The hand 
that can restore you to your proper place will be ac- 
cepted at last.” 

Claire shook her head, laughed at this strange style 
of wooing, and said : 

44 Madame Laroche will suit you much better than I. 
She is still very handsome, and a most charming woman 
of society. Allow me to recommend her. as my suc- 
cessor in your good graces.” 

“ Madame Laroche is very charming — true — but who 
will look at the moon when the sun is shining ? Ah, 
my beautiful coquette, you are laughing at me as 
usual ; but there is a proverb which says, 4 he may 
laugh who wins.’ ” 

“ It is one you will not illustrate in this case, 
Monsieur. Some day I will tell you why, but not 
now.” 

“ Ah, bah ; some day you will put your fair hand in 
mine, and smile like an angel in my face, as you 
sweetly say : 4 Your adoring love has conquered at last, 
I am all your own.’ ” 


206 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Really, Baron, yon make love so earnestly that I 
am half tempted to believe all you say. But men are 
such deceivers, that it is risking too much to trust to 
their fair words.” 

“ I scarcely think that you possess the right to re- 
proach my sex in that respect, Madame, for a more 
accomplished flirt than yourself can hardly be found in 
Europe. You have won the love of many, only to 
scorn it when offered. You have permitted me to fol- 
low you for years, giving gleams of hope that at times 
made me think the game was almost won, at others, 
I have been flouted like the rest of your adorers. But 
I do not give up as they do. Even in affairs of the 
heart, a strong will conquers in the end. Baroness 
Poliansky I have decided to make you, and you will 
yet bow to the fate I have decreed you.” 

“ I might think so if such a thing were possible ; 
but it is not. I will tell you why at some future day. 
But here comes Leonie to break up our tete-a-tete.” 

Madame Laroche came in to play the agreeable to 
the resolute wooer, who in spite of his devotion to 
Claire, she did not despair of bringing to her own feet 
when he found himself baffled in his present pursuit. 

To Poliansky her own want of fortune would be no 
obstacle to their union, for he was rich enough to dis- 
pense wuth a dower with the wife he might choose. 
The wild Cossack was by no means insensible to the 
sweet flatteries lavished upon him by Madame Laroche, 
and if the beautiful syren who enslaved him could 
have been removed from comparison with her, Leonie’s 
chances of ultimate success were not so very bad. 

Nearly four years have passed away as a dream since 
that last remonstrance to Latour had been ventured 


LATOUR’S DEATH. 207 

on, and now the tragic end of all his vain hopes was at 
hand. 

It was autumn, and a golden October sun smiled 
over the landscape around the gloomy old tower to 
which for the past few months Latour had confined 
himself almost exclusively. His health had failed him, 
under his repeated disappointments ; and the wearing 
studies in which he spent so much of his time, vainly 
seeking to lift the shrouding veil from nature’s most 
occult secrets, had exhausted his physical energies. 

The chemist made many beautiful and valuable dis- 
coveries, but they were passed over with scarcely a 
thought in the absorbing desire that he believed always 
on the eve of fulfillment. 

On this evening he was in the tower alone, prepar- 
ing for what he knew was the last experiment he pos- 
sessed the means to make. On the previous day La- 
tour had withdrawn the last instalment of his fortune 
from the bank, and ceased to have any interest in it. 
He had made up his mind that if this supreme trial 
proved a failure like the others, he would keep his 
promise to Claire, and suffer the demon that possessed 
him to be laid at rest. Henceforth he could vegetate 
as a pensioner upon the fortune he had given her, and 
try once more to take an interest in the common pur- 
suits of life. Yet the prospect of such a future was 
infinitely dreary to him who had lived in visionary 
dreams for so many years. He loved Claire very ten- 
derly, but he knew that even she could not suffice to 
him for what he must give up in closing his beloved 
tower forever. If he were unsuccessful in this crown- 
ing effort, he must succumb, for he was firm in his 
determination not to risk any portion of her fortune in 


208 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


the pursuit which had devoured the greater part of his 
own. 

He had but paid to her the debt he owed his father, 
and he felt that he had no claim on what he had given 
her. -Thus Latour reasoned with himself while he 
made most careful and elaborate preparations for the 
final struggle against the fate that menaced him. 

He was but little over fifty, but a stranger w^ould 
have declared the bent and feeble man who tremu- 
lously prepared for the final solution of the problem 
that had so long tantalized him, must have passed his 
grand climacteric. As he bent over the furnace to 
ascertain if it had attained the proper temperature, he 
looked like some weird enchanter about to commence 
his spells. 

He paused once, made the sign of the cross upon his 
breast, and prayed fervently for success ; yet, good 
Christian as Latour was, I am afraid if a demon had 
appeared at that crisis, and offered success in exchange 
for his soul, he would have made the compact, so ut- 
terly had he given himself up to the fantasy that had 
ruined health and fortune. 

After hours of watching and waiting, the sublime 
moment approached which was to make him master of 
untold millions, or leave him a pauper. 

The heated air in the chamber seemed to suffocate 
him, and he lifted the glass mask from his face an in- 
stant, to relieve the strain upon his breast and lungs. 
The next one, he fell partially unconscious upon the 
floor, overcome by the stifling atmosphere and the long 
pent-up feelings of his own heart. He made a feeble 
effort to rise, for he knew that everything depended 
on his strict attention to his duties ; but he sank back 
with a feeble moan, muttering : 


LATOUR’S DEATH. 


209 


u Too late ! too late ! all is lost.” 

There was a slight explosion, but the furnace roared 
on ; and its master lay prone beside it, suffocated by 
the noxious fumes that filled the air. Had any one 
been near him to throw open the door and drag him 
forth as Claire had once done, Latour might have been 
saved ; but a more kindly fate interposed, and gave 
immortality to the disappointed chemist, in place of the 
weary existence he must have dragged out through a 
few brief years, at best. 

When the usual supper hour came round, and his 
master did not appear, old Pierre hobbled up the stairs 
to see if he had at last met any success. Receiving no 
answer when he knocked on the door, he tried to open 
it, but found that it was fastened within. 

After repeated calls he became alarmed, and went 
back as fast as his infirmities permitted to the lower 
part of the house, and gave the alarm. In a few mo- 
ments, an eager and excited group gathered on the 
platform, and after some consultation, it was decided 
to break open the door. 

For a long time it resisted all their efforts, but 
finally burst in with a crash ; and the stifling vapors 
confined within the chamber rushed out, causing the 
stoutest men among them to recoil. 

Several moments elapsed before any one would ven- 
ture in, and then the prostrate form of Latour was 
seen’ lying within a few feet of the furnace, which still 
roared on and sent forth volumes of heated air, which 
— alas ! — no longer possessed the power to give warmth 
or vitality to the form, from which life had long since 
departed. 

Again, Francois lifted him in his arms and carried 

13 


210 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


him below ; but, this time, all their efforts to restore 
him to consciousness proved vain. A messenger was 
dispatched to Paris, to inform Claire of her brother’s 
condition and to bring back a physician, in the forlorn 
hope that something might yet be done for the stark 
figure that lay so still upon the bed on which it had 
been placed. 

* But Zolande would not cease her efforts to restore 
animation, and her lamentations over her dead foster 
child were most pathetic and heart-rending. 

In two hours the family physician arrived, but a 
brief examination satisfied him that further efforts to 
restore life would be useless, though he found it very 
difficult to make the old housekeeper believe him. 

Dr. Ledru gave orders to have the body of the 
deceased prepared for burial before the arrival of his 
sister, for he wished the evidences of the manner in 
which Latour had met his fate to be removed before 
Claire saw him. His clothing had been scorched, and 
his hair and beard singed by the heat from the furnace, 
though his person bore no disfiguring marks upon it. 
Latour had evidently died of asphyxia, and his face 
was as calm as if he lay in a natural sleep. 

Dr. Ledru then descended to the tower to ascertain 
the cause of the catastrophe, if it were possible to do 
so. By this time the fire had burnt itself out, and 
over its dying embers he found the shattered remains 
of the last venture of the unfortunate dreamer — a 
broken crucible, with fragments of melted dross lying 
at the bottom, told the story of the pitiful failure 
which had engulfed both fortune and life. With a 
sigh he turned away, and slowly retraced his steps. 
As he gained the vestibule a carriage was driven 


LATOUR’S DEATH. 


211 


rapidly to the entrance ; and in another moment, 
Claire, pale as death and trembling with excitement, 
came swiftly up the walk that led to the door. 

When she saw Ledru, she hurriedly asked : 

. “ What is it, Doctor ? What has happened ? My 
brother is not seriously injured, I hope. I could gain 
nothing positive from the stupid messenger. Oh, 
heavens ! I have long dreaded this. Where is Ar- 
mand ? I must see him at once ! ” 

“My dear Madame L’Epine,” said Ledru, very 
gently, “ come with me into this room. I must speak 
with you before you go to your brother — your presence 
can do him no good now.” 

She looked at him as if scarcely comprehending his 
words, but she submitted to be led into the music- 
room and placed on a sofa. Her companion brought 
her a glass of water, and after drinking a portion of it, 
she faintly asked : 

“ What have you to tell me, Doctor ? Is he — is my 
brother ^ — Oh, no, no ! it cannot be what I appre- 
hend ! so cruel a fate as that cannot have overtaken 
my good, my noble Armand. Speak, I conjure you, 
and tell me the worst.” 

After a moment’s pause, Ledru gently said : 

“ It is better thus than to live to know that the aim 
of his life was defeated. God is often good to us 
when we least understand His dealings with the 
creatures he has made. Your brother will never meet 
with another disappointment, Madame; he has gone 
where all secrets are unveiled, and he now knows what 
he has so long sought in vain.” 

Claire bent down her head and wept with all the 
passion of her nature ; but this first paroxysm passed 


212 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


away, and she wiped away her tears, and with more 
calmness than Ledru expected, asked if she might be 
permitted to see her brother. 

The physician went first to the room in which 
Latour lay, to see if his orders had been obeyed ; in a 
few moments he returned, and taking the hand of 
Claire, led her to the couch on which all that remained 
of her brother lay. 

The toilette of the dead had been carefully made, 
his hair and beard were trimmed, and Latour lay as if 
asleep, with a placid smile upon his lips. 

Claire loved him deeply and truly, and she wept 
bitter tears of anguish over his sudden fate ; but she 
admitted to herself, even in those hours of suffering, 
that death was better for him than the dreary insanity 
that must have fallen on him when compelled to 
relinquish the only pursuit that afforded him happi- 
ness. 

She had been warned that day by her brother’s 
partner that the last remnant of his fortune had been 
withdrawn from the bank on the previous day, and she 
knew, without being told, that he had perished in the 
hour of final failure, which blasted all his hopes and 
left him nothing to live for. 

A few hours later she visited the tower, and saw for 
herself the evidences of that last supreme struggle 
with fate, and she scarcely marveled that so high 
strung a man as Armand Latour had succumbed before 
the certainty that he had risked all, and gained nothing 
but defeat. 

Claire gave orders to have the room closed, after 
removing from the desk the few papers it contained. 
The lock was repaired, and the key placed in her own 


LATOUR’S DEATH. 


213 


possession, and from that day no one but herself was 
allowed to enter the sacred precincts of the spot on 
which her brother had toiled and died. 

Madame Laroche joined her that night, and a few 
intimate friends came out to Latour, to remain till 
after the funeral was over. 

On the fourth day after his decease, the unfortunate 
chemist was buried in Pere La Chaise, and Claire 
gratified herself by placing over his grave a magnifi- 
cent monument recording his virtues and nobility of 
character. 

When all was done, an inexpressible sense of 
weariness and desolation came over her. As little 
sympathy as there had been between her own pursuits 
and those of her brother, the tie that bound them 
together was a very strong one, and Claire felt as one 
might feel if suddenly abandoned upon a desert shore. 
She felt no desire to emerge from the seclusion of 
Latour, and that world in which she had shone as a 
bright particular star seemed to have lost all its attrac- 
tions for her. 

She finally roused herself from the depressing state 
of lassitude in which she had fallen, sufficiently to look 
into her brother’s affairs. She was scarcely surprised 
to find that of the whole of his large fortune nothing 
remained but the settlement he had made upon herself. 
The house in town was sold to pay debts which had 
been contracted for its maintenance, but even that was 
insufficient to clear off the claims that came pouring in 
as soon as it was known that the estate was to be set- 
tled up. 

These were so numerous that Claire was compelled 
to sacrifice a considerable portion of her own fortune 


214 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


to liquidate them. She felt a just pride in doing this, 
for she could not have borne that the fair name her 
brother so highly prized should be dishonored through 
a failure to pay the last franc that was justly due from 
him to others. 

Her lawyer remonstrated, but she was firm, and 
when all was finally settled she found herself the 
possessor of Latour, with an income greatly reduced 
from that she had hitherto enjoyed. 

Though deeply chagrined at the change in their 
style of living, Madame Laroche remained in the seclu- 
sion of the chateau, in the hope that she might yet 
induce Claire to accept her Russian lover, or if that 
were impossible, secure him for herself. 

The baron came constantly to Latour, but, under the 
plea of her recent affliction, Claire declined receiving 
him herself ; but her companion was more complaisant, 
and, in their almost daily interviews, Leonie began to 
hope that she was slowly making her way to the great 
object of her life, a magnificent home, of which she 
would be the undisputed mistress. 

Madame Laroche flattered, teazed and coquetted 
with the Baron till he began to think her almost as 
charming as the object of his long pursuit. One day 
when they were walking in the grounds together, he 
made a singular proposal to her. It was to the effect 
that, if she would use all her influence to induce her 
friend to accept him, he would take her to Russia with 
them, allow her a handsome salary, and, in time, ar- 
range a brilliant match for her, bestowing on her a 
suitable dower himself. 

“ And if I should fail, after using all my efforts in 
your behalf,” she archly asked, “ what is to compen- 
sate me for all my trouble ? ” 


LATOUR’S DEATH. 


215 


“Well — if that happens, I shall not care much 
what my fate is. I may as well marry ^you myself. 
You would do the honors of my castle in grand style, 
and make a sensation at court ; for, next to Madame 
L’Epine, you are the most charming woman I know.” 

She courtesied deeply, and laughed aloud. 

“ If your words mean anything, you are bound to 
me already, for Claire will never consent to marry 
you. In fact, there is an obstacle that she considers 
insuperable.” 

“An obstacle ? — what is it ? She is free as air ; and 
now that she is poor, she will listen more favorably to 
my suit.” 

“ I think not. Can I trust to your honor, Baron, a 
secret I have discovered for myself? If I tell you 
what the obstacle is, will you never betray it to a 
human being ? ” 

“ On my honor, no : I will be as silent as death 
itself.” 

“ Then let me whisper to you, in the strictest confi- 
dence, that Madame L’Epine’s husband is 'still living. 
You have always believed her to be a widow, but she 
is not one.” 

Poliansky stopped, and looked at the speaker with a 
bewildered expression ; but he presently said : 

“ If such a person is in existence, her long separa- 
tion from him suffices to free her. But how is it that 
Monsieur L’Epine has never before been spoken of? ” 

“ It was Claire’s wish that her unhappy story should 
not be known in this country. I heard it from a lady 
from Virginia with whom I met at Baden last summer. 
Mrs. Clinton brought letters to Claire from her early 
friends, the Courtnays ; and she spoke to me of her 


216 THE DISCARDED WIFE. 

past life in the belief that I was aware of the facts. I 
was deeply interested, of course, and by putting to- 
gether various items that I had learned myself, I made 
out the whole story.” 

“ This is astounding ! Does she yet care for the 
man who has so long deserted her ? and is that why 
she refuses to accept the devotion I offer her ? ” 

“ I cannot tell you what her feelings to him may be, 
but she is a very rigid Catholic, and she will not be- 
lieve that she is free to give her hand to another, 
though her husband obtained a divorce and married 
again.” 

“ Why, what a dolt the man must be, to give up 
such an angel of beauty and fascination as Madame 
L’Epine ! Was he mad ? ” 

“ I think not ; but in those days Claire was poor 
and dependent. She knew little of the wealth her 
brother possessed ; in fact, she was scarcely aware of 
his existence at all, till a few months before she came 
to France. When she was cast off by the man she 
had eloped with, Mrs. Courtnay received her again, 
and brought her to Europe with her. When her 
friend returned to Virginia, Claire remained with her 
brother, and induced him to present her to society as 
a widow.” 

“And she' holds herself bound to that faithless 
villain ! He too with another wife ! She must be 
taught better than that, Madame.” 

“Well — let us make the effort, Baron. I will serve 
you in good faith, but, if I am unsuccessful, I shall 
claim the forfeit, remember.” 

She raised her brilliant black eyes to his face, spark- 
ling with mirth at this strange wooing of two women 


LATOUR’S DEATH. 217 

at the same time, but with a feeling of triumph that 
she had accomplished so much. 

The Baron also laughed as he offered her his hand, 
and said : 

“ It is a compact, and I am flattered that you are 
willing to enter into it. If your friend proves obdu- 
rate, I will console myself .with one I shall find infi- 
nitely charming when away from the enchantress who 
has so long held me in her chains. When I left home 
I told my friends that I should bring back with me a 
lovely wife, and I am now sure that I shall do so un- 
der any circumstances.” 

On her return to the chateau Madame Laroche 
retired to her own apartment, to think over the singu- 
lar interview in which she had just borne a part. She 
knew Poliansky to be a man of his word, and she 
balanced the advantages of securing him, against the 
prospect of a brilliant marriage with some other Rus- 
sian magnate, if Claire could be induced to accept him. 

Leonie had no personal preference for the Baron, 
though she was ready to assume the state of his wife ; 
so, secure to win either way, she decided to do what 
was in her power to further his suit with her friend. 

Day by day she talked of the Baron’s many excel- 
lent traits to Claire : dwelt on his long devotion to her, 
and made her almost believe that it was her duty to 
escape from the dull life she led, and the privations of 
a narrow income, to the magnificent future offered her 
by her Cossack lover. 

At first Claire listened wearily : for the first few 
months after her brother’s death she was so much 
depressed in spirits that she cared little for the loss of 
the profuse splendor in which she had so long revelled. 


218 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


But gradually her taste for society began to revive, 
and she realized that she had lost the brilliant supre- 
macy in the court of fashion which had so long been 
conceded her. She keenly felt the inconveniences of 
her lessened income : it would barely suffice to main- 
tain Latour respectably, and all thoughts of an estab- 
lishment in Paris must be given up, even if she would 
consent to live humbly where she had so long reigned 
as the queen in her own circle. 

Her life at that period seemed to have no object, 
and for the first time she despaired of ever being in a 
position to extort justice from Walter Thorne. Her 
conscience, too, began faintly to prick her for watch- 
ing and waiting for the death of poor Agnes, that she 
might wreak her vengeance upon her offending hus- 
band. 

In this state of feeling she began insensibly to listen 
with more complacency to the praises of her wealthy 
lover — to think of the almost oriental splendor in 
which she might live if she accepted him. With all 
his brusqueness, the Baron was not distasteful to her, 
though she felt not one emotion of preference for him. 

“ What does that matter ? ” she asked herself. 
“ My heart is dead — it can never love again ; but I 
can make him happy, for the man adores me — I believe 
that he, at -least, is sincere in his professions.” 

Claire was hesitating thus, unable to make up her 
mind to the irrevocable step, when a package of 
American newspapers was brought out to her by the 
Baron, unconscious that in doing so he was destroying 
his last hope of success. 

On looking over them, Claire found something in 
one of them that caused her to grow very pale and 


LATOUR’S DEATH. 


219 


then flush deeply. She cut the paragraph from the 
paper, and put it carefully away with the bond sent 
her four years before by Andrew Courtnay. 

She then went out on the terrace and paced to and 
fro-, thinking over the long-buried past, and planning 
the course she intended to pursue. When she retired 
at a late hour she could not sleep, for old memories 
were seething in her brain and again half-maddening 
the heart that had so long learned to beat as quietly 
and coolly as if her life had been one long summer 
dream. 

It was very late when Claire appeared the next 
morning, and she learned that the baron had been out 
and returned to Paris, leaving with Madame Laroche 
a communication for herself. As so as breakfast was 
over, she plunged into it at once. 

The baron has received an imperial summons to 
return to St. Petersburg within a month from this 
time, and he presses for a final answer from you, my 
dear. I promised to obtain it, if possible : he wishes 
to take his wife back with him to Russia.” 

Claire laughed, and said : 

“But Leonie, who knows what he is recalled for? 
It may be to send him in exile to Siberia. Would it 
not be risking too much to say yes, under such circum- 
stances ? ” 

“ I don’t believe you care the least about him-, Claire, 
or you could not laugh when you utter such a supposi- 
tion. But the imperial order for his return is not to 
punish, but to reward. The baron is a secret agent 
of his government, and his services are so highly ap- 
preciated that the emperor intends to confer on 
him the order of the Black Eagle, and give him a 


220 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


higher title of nobility. He will be elevated to the 
rank of prince, and an estate, with any number of 
serfs, given him to sustain it. Only think what a great 
destiny is before you — Madame La Princesse, I con- 
gratulate you ! ” 

Claire quietly replied : 

“ All that sounds very grand, but I must decline 
sharing the honors of his new Highness. My fate calls 
me elsewhere, and in a few more weeks I shall be on 
my way to my native land.” 

Her companion regarded her with amazement min- 
gled with triumph. She asked : 

“ Are you really in earnest, Claire ? I began to 
think that you were seriously considering the baron’s 
offer, and might finally accept it.” 

“ I have considered it, and I have decided against it. 
I can never love him ; that should be enough for him. 
Something I learned yesterday has caused me to make 
up my mind to return to the United States for at least 
a year. I cannot explain what it was, Leonie, but you 
must make the baron understand that, with me, all 
hope for him is at an end. I only wish that you would 
console him for his disappointment. While I am gone, 
you can remain at Latour, if you choose ; but it would 
be far more agreeable to shine in the court of the Czar 
than to vegetate here alone.” 

“ Have you irrevocably decided against accepting 
the baron, Claire ? ” was the earnest question of 
Madame Laroche. 

“ Positively, and without appeal. This very day I 
shall commence my preparations for departure, and 
within a month I shall be on the ocean.” 

Her friend steadily regarded her a moment, and then 
burst into a merry laugh : 


LATOUR’S DEATH. 


221 


“ Thank you, my dear, for the offer of Latour, but 
I think I shall prefer accepting your suggestion, and 
go to Russia with the baron. I hope that you will 
bear witness to him that I have been his faithful ally ; 
that I have used all my efforts to induce you to listen 
favorably to his suit, for on that hangs my chance to 
secure this brilliant match.’ ’ 

Claire regarded her with astonishment. She coldly 
said : 

“ You have advocated the baron’s cause zealously 
enough, but I am at a loss to understand you.” 

“ And to speak frankly, I am equally at a loss to find 
words to explain our anomalous position. The baron 
is a semi-barbarian after all, but I like him well enough 
to put up with him, in consideration of the state to 
which he can elevate me. He likes me next to you, 
and as his friends expect him to take back with him an 
accomplished foreign wife, he is willing to put up with 
me if he can’t get you. There — it is out now.” 

Claire looked amazed, indignant, but she finally 
burst into a peal of ringing laughter. 

“ What an absurd position for all of us, and what a 
cool pair you must be. He has actually been making 
love to you, when I thought he was so devoted to me 
that he would be plunged in despair when I finally 
broke with him.” 

“ He might have been, if I had not flattered him till 
he finds me almost necessary to him. I never believed 
that you would marry him, so I played my own game, 
and I shall reign in state over his vassals. I shall not 
invite you to visit me, Claire, much as I am attached 
to you, for he might go back to his old allegiance, you 
know. Only when I have him entirely to myself, can 


222 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


I secure the power I intend to wield over this wild 
Cossack. • I hope you are quite satisfied with this 
arrangement, my dear ? ” 

“ Perfectly ; and I wish you joy with the burden you 
are about to assume, for it will be no trifle to keep this 
semi-barbarian in proper order,” said Claire, merrily. 
‘ I have often told the baron that you would suit him far 
better than I should, and I am glad that he has had the 
wisdom to see it at last. W e have dwelt together very 
harmoniously, Leonie, but I shall have no wish to see 
the barbaric splendor in which you will live. Win the 
heart of your husband, and keep it, for I shall have 
enough to occupy me in the distant land to which I 
am going. This ending of the farce we have played is 
las agreeable to me as to you, I assure you.” 

“ You are the dearest creature in the world, Claire,” 
said Madame Laroche, embracing her with effusion. 

“ All I now ask of you is, to insist that my marriage 
shall take place immediately. I must secure my prize 
before I can feel certain of my good fortune.” 

“You shall do so, and I shall be your attendant on 
the auspicious occasion. This is a better ending to a 
grand passion than the French resource of blowing 
one’s brains out ; but I must say that it gives new edge 
to my contempt for men’s vows of eternal constancy. 
‘ What care I how fair she be, if she is not fair to me,’ 
is the baron’s motto, I suppose, and I recognize its 
wisdom. So, hey for the wedding.” 

In the afternoon the baron came to hear the deci- 
sion of his fate. With some chagrin he received it 
from Claire’s own lips, but he did not resent it. He 
only shrugged his shoulders, and submitted to the 
inevitable^ She excused herself for a few moments, 


L A T O UR’S DEATH. 228 

but presently returned, leading Madame Laroche by 
the hand, and with a gay smile, said : 

“ I bring you the fair consoler for your disappoint- 
ment with regard to myself, Baron. Leonie will ren- 
der you far happier than I ever could, and I ask but 
one favor of you : that is, that your marriage shall be 
celebrated within ten days. At the end of that time I 
shall embark for New York.” 

For an instant Poliansky looked foolish and annoy- 
ed, but the comedy of the situation struck the three, 
and they burst into a simultaneous peal of laughter. 

After that, all the embarrassment was over, and the 
preliminaries of the intended marriage were speedily 
settled. 

The baron went back to Paris to set the lawyers to 
work to prepare the handsome settlement he intended 
to make upon his bride. A magnificent trousseau was 
ordered by him to be ready within a week, and by 
making extraordinary efforts, the mantua-makers and 
milliners succeeded in having it completed by the 
appointed time. 

On the tenth morning from the announcement of 
the engagement, the marriage took place in Notre 
Dame, and on the following day Baron Polianksy and 
his bride bade adieu to their friends and set out for 
Russia. 

In the meantime, Claire steadily made her prepara- 
tions for departure. Pierre and Zolande had been 
amply provided for by an annuity settled on them 
before the death of Latour, and they were left in 
charge of the chateau during the absence of its 
mistress. 

Six months had elapsed since the death of her 


224 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


brother, and after making a farewell pilgrimage to his 
tomb, Claire set out for Havre alone, for' she did not 
wish to be embarrassed by the espionage of a servant. 

She had permitted Finette to accompany the Baron- 
ess Poliansky to her new home ; the girl had served 
her long and faithfully, and she regretted the necessity 
that parted them, but under present circumstances, she 
thought it best to rid herself of her altogether. 

What Claire’s designs were, and how she carried 
them out, will be seen as our story progresses. 

That lonely voyage, haunted only by phantoms from 
the long-buried past, was a dreary penance to her, but 
she consoled herself for all its discomforts by anticipat- 
ing the success of her long cherished vengeance. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE LAST HOUR OF AGNES. 

M ANY improvements have been made in the outward 
appearance of Thornhill during the years which 
have elapsed since we last looked upon it. A taste for 
landscape gardening was one of the few that survived 
the blight which had fallen on its unhappy mistress, and 
her husband permitted her to indulge it without inter- 
ference. 

A grove of oak and tulip trees swept away from the 
entrance on either side, in curved lines, leaving the 
wide central space in front of the house to be ornament- 
ed at the will of Agnes. The hill side had been cut 
into a succession of wide terraces, covered with *the 


THE LAST HOUR OF AGNES. 


225 


softest and greenest.turf, and planted at the edges with 
scarlet verbena, which, in the season of bloom, formed 
a brilliant contrast to its emerald setting. On the 
esplanade in front of the portico a few silver maples 
were grouped together in such a way as to shade the 
lawn, without materially obstructing the view from 
the windows of the house. 

A graveled carriage sweep, shaded by lofty forest 
trees, lay below the terraced portion of the grounds, 
and wound gradually upward to a side entrance which 
gave into a lateral hall. This was nearly as imposing 
as the main one, and was chiefly used by visitors to the 
house. 

The place was considered by Walter Thorne’s neigh- 
bors the most desirable one in the vicinity of L , 

but not one among them would have been found 
willing to accept his beautiful home with the burden of 
guilt and wretchedness which its possession had entailed 
on its owner. 

Lovely as were the surroundings of Thornhill, few 
looked up at its stately walls without a shudder when 
they thought of the earthly pandemonium they were 
asserted to contain, though few could speak from 
actual knowledge. The family had for years held 
themselves aloof from those who lived near them ; the 
failing health of the mistress of the mansion being the 
excuse for the seclusion in which they lived. Stories 
were told of the cause of that broken health, which 
made people look askance at Walter Thorne, and 
marvel if they could be true. 

He took no pains to contradict them, or to set him- 
self right with those he came in contact with as seldom 
as possible. He lived, when at home, in his library 
14 


226 the discarded wife. 

and studio, seeking the society of .none, and brusquely 
repelling all attempts to penetrate the haughty reserve 
in which he chose to shroud himself. When he felt 
the need of social intercourse, he sought it in large 
cities, in which he was lost in the crowd, and was not 
an especial mark for comment or notice. 

Thorne would often absent himself for months at a 
time, leaving his wife and daughter in the seclusion 
of the dull home he no longer found supportable to 
himself. That his absence was regretted no one 
believed, for the husband and wife were known to be 
entirely estranged from each other, and peace at least 
reigned in the house when the fiery spirit that ruled it 
was away. 

Seventeen years have rolled away since the inauspi- 
cious marriage of Agnes Willard and Walter Thorne, 
years of bitter dissension, which had destroyed the 
sweetness of her nature and more deeply embittered 
his ; but to her, the end of this wretched turmoil was 
now approaching — the shining angel was hovering 
over her, waiting to take her to that repose which she 
had failed to find on earth. But for one tender tie, 
Mrs. Thorne would have rejoiced in the prospect of 
release ; but the dying one wept and trembled, as her 
fading sight dwelt upon her daughter, a gentle depend- 
ent creature, who clung to her as her only friend. 

The shadows of evening were creeping through the 
lofty room, and the pale invalid, supported by pillows, 
held the hand of her child clasped closely in her own. 
Few who looked on Agnes would have recognized the 
proud beauty whose strong will had marred her own 
destiny and that of the man she had once so wildly loved 
— for whom she had now neither trust nor affection. A 


THE LAST HOUR OF AGNES. 


227 


pallid phantom, whose light blue eyes glittered with 
the fierce passions her wretched life had brought into 
constant action, was all that remained of the fair 
loveliness of her who had once borne the name of the 
Lily of L . 

The daughter, a girl of sixteen, did not resemble her 
in person or in temper ; she was a pale delicate 
creature, with eyes of vivid blackness, and hair of the 
same color, which was wound in voluminous folds 
around her small head. Petite, pretty and graceful, 
few would have supposed her capable of resistance to 
anything demanded of her, but the fire of her paternal 
race only slumbered to be aroused into action in time 
of need, to enable her to defend herself from wrong or 
oppression. 

Dr. Brandon, Mrs. Thorne’s physician, had left the 
room to infom her husband of the approaching crisis, 
as Agnes wished once more to see him before the end 
came. 

When the door closed on him, the dying mother 
raised her feeble hand, and placing it on the bowed 
head of the trembling girl, softly said : 

“ I am going from you, May, my darling. I can no 
longer stand between you and your father and guard 
you from his outbursts of temper. When I am no 
longer with you, he may be good to you, for I do not 
think all feeling is dead within him ; but you must not 
be placed entirely in his power. The money left me 
by my father was settled on my children. You are my 
only child, and to you it must descend. Should efforts 
hereafter be made to induce you to relinquish the 
control of your little fortune, remember that it is n^ last 
injunction to you to retain it at all hazards. Promise 
me this, my daughter, or I cannot die contented.” 


228 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Oil, mamma,” sobbed May, “ do not talk of leaving 
me. all alone. I cannot bear it. What will become of 
me when you are gone ? ” 

Mrs. Thorne feebly drew her toward herself, and 
tenderly said : 

“ I must speak of what must so soon happen, May. 
I feel already the hand of Death laid coldly upon me ; 
a few more hours, and I shall be away — away in the 
spirit land ; but before I take leave of time, I must 
have the promise I require. I could not rest in my 
grave if I left you at the mercy of the man it has been 
my misfortune to claim as my husband. Promise me 
that you will retain the independence I bequeath you 
— that nothing shall induce you to surrender it to your 
father. He will demand it of you, for he will wish to 
possess the entire control of your future fate. But 
you must not — you dare not — give him a power he will 
be certain to abuse.” 

Appalled by the earnestness of the speaker, May 
tremulously said : 

“ I will promise anything you wish, mamma, if you 
will not so dreadfully excite yourself. You are 
exhausting your strength speaking so much.” 

“ What matters that now ? I am floating away on 
the wings of invisible spirits — they sustain me in this 
supreme hour: they whisper of hope and peace in a 
better land. I shall find it there, though I have 
missed it here, for I have a firm reliance on the mercy 
of God to the erring and unfortunate creatures He has 
made. My child, I have no time to lose ; there is my 
bible — take it in your hand and swear to me to obey 
my wishes, and I shall be better contented to leave 
you.” 


THE LAST HOUR OF AGNES. 


229 


Almost beside herself with grief and terror, May 
lifted the holy book, pressed it to her lips, and gave 
the promise her mother so earnestly required. Mrs. 
Thorne sunk back with a faint smile on her wan lips, 
and whispered : 

“ Thank you, my love ; kiss me ; lay my head upon 
your breast, and so let my spirit pass to Him who gave 
it. I have been a miserable sinner ; I have done much 
wrong in my life, but I feel the assurance that the All 
Father will forgive and receive me.” 

May gave her some drops left by the physician, 
which seemed to revive her, and then placing herself 
upon the side of the bed, rested the worn face upon 
her bosom. She wept softly, and felt in that hour all 
the forlorn misery of her lot in the approaching sepa- 
ration. Her mother was the only creature who had 
ever loved or caressed her, and she was leaving her to 
struggle with all the difficulties of her position, aggra- 
vated by the opposition to her father to which May 
had just pledged herself. 

In the meantime, Dr. Brandon had made his way to 
the private sanctum of Mr. Thorne, and struck a quick 
knock upon the door. It was immediately opened by 
a tall, slender man of dark complexion, with eyes of 
vivid blackness, and features clearly and finely cut. 
It was a haughty and handsome face, and might have 
belonged to an Italian aristocrat in the days of the 
Borgias. The mouth was shaded by a heavy mous- 
tache which concealed the cynical expression it had 
gradually acquired, and the eyes held depths of smol- 
dering passion, of dark unquiet fire, that blazed forth 
at the slightest provocation. Such was Walter Thorne 
at the mature age of forty. Time had dealt more 


230 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


lightly with him than with his wife, for his fine physi- 
cal organization enabled him to bear, without loss of 
health or spirits, the domestic misery which had 
broken down Agnes, and was bringing her to an un- 
timely grave. 

He coldly bowed to the physician and said : 

“ If you have anything to say to me, Dr. Brandon, 
I will go with you to the reception room. My den is 
all in confusion, for I have been overhauling some old 
pictures that have been packed away for an age. Pray 
excuse me for not inviting you to come in.” 

“ Dr. Brandon drew back and briefly said : 

“ I have not the time to enter, Mr. Thorne. I 
came hither to summon you to your wife’s side. She 
is sinking very fast, and I scarcely think she will be 
alive an hour hence. If you wish to see her while con- 
sciousness remains, you had better come at once to her 
apartment.” 

The listener shivered, and a deathly pallor over- 
spread his face, but he recovered himself and calmly 
inquired : * 

“Are you sure that Mrs. Thorne is dying? You 
know you have thought that several times before, and 
she revived to new life. Unless there is really a 
necessity for it, I should prefer not going to her room 
just now.” 

The doctor curtly replied : 

“ There can be no mistake this time, Mr. Thorne. 
The chain you have dragged so long and wearily is 
about to be snapped forever ; in a few more hours you 
will be free.” 

Thorne flashed a lightning glance upon the speaker, 
but suddenly his expression changed — he seemed to 


THE LAST HOUR OF AGNES. 


231 


be struggling for breath, and waving back the physi- 
cian, he hurriedly said, as he closed the door upon him : 

“ I will come to her in ten minutes.” 

The room was fitted up as a studio, and artistic 
taste, combined with lavish expenditure, had made it 
a gem of beauty, which no one was permitted to enjoy 
but himself. No profane foot was ever allowed to 
cross that enchanted threshold, within which Walter 
Thorne found the only happiness he enjoyed in his own 
house. 

A passionate lover of art, he had collected around 
himself copies of the most celebrated cabinet pictures 
of ancient and modern times, and the walls from ceil- 
ing to floor were literally covered with them. Marbles, 
white and pure, the work of the best sculptors of our 
day, gleamed in the niches between the windows, and 
were grouped in different parts of the large room. 

A bay window had been thrown out on the southern 
side of the apartment, and in the recess his easel was 
so placed that on raising his eyes from his work they 
commanded a wide prospect of hill and valley, with a 
narrow stream winding through the grounds of his 
own domain. 

A table covered with a scarlet cloth stood in the 
centre of the floor, on which books and music were 
scattered, for Mr. Thorne was a connoisseur in more 
arts than one. 

An iron-bound chest was open on the floor, from 
which an old portfolio filled with unfinished sketches 
of mountain scenery had been taken, and it now lay 
open upon the table ; other pictures in different stages 
of progress were heaped up on the floor, but in the 
bottom of the chest one still remained. 


232 THE discarded wife. 

This one was wrapped around with several folds of 
linen which had grown yellow with time ; for many 
years had elapsed since the painting was placed there as 
a banned thing — too sacred or too dangerous to be 
lightly looked on. 

He sunk down beside the chest ; with heaving 
breast and dilating eyes he lifted the canvas, tore 
away the shrouding folds that veiled it, and with pant- 
ing breath, cried out : 

“ At last, at last , I am free to look upon that haunt- 
ing face again. Free, free! Oh, God, can it be true 
that my long thraldom is about to end ? That the 
chain which has eaten into my very heart is about to 
be broken ? Come forth to the light once more, shade 
of my early love, and let me look upon thee once 
again. Let me curse the weakness that severed us 
forever — making me a slave to the will of another, a 
tyrant to that unhappy one who is making ready to 
carry her wrongs to a higher tribunal than that of 
earth. If they have been many and hard to bear, I 
too, have had my bitter burden, and it was heavier 
than hers. Yes, heavier, for she loved me once, and I 
— I almost detested her as the cause of my bitter 
anguish.” 

Thus muttering, with a species of frenzied haste 
Thorne drew aside the last fold, and placed the picture 
against a pile of books that lay upon the table. The 
broad level light from the uncurtained window fell 
upon the portrait of a girl so young as to seem almost 
a child. It was but a sketch, and only the upper por- 
tion of the face was finished, but the outline was so 
beautiful that it might easily have been mistaken for 
an ideal head. 


FREE AT LAST. 


233 


But Walter Thorne knew better than that, for his 
own hand had sketched it from the fair original in 
those hours of youthful passion in which he had 
thought the world well lost for her sake. Long and 
weary years had passed away since it had been hidden 
from his sight — years of strife, of heart-burning, of 
wretched discontent, which had embittered his fierce 
temper,' and hardened his nature. 

Thorne could not have told what had impelled him 
to seek that picture on that day, but now he dimly 
felt that some mysterious prevision warned him that 
his long bondage was almost ended, and the right 
restored to him to look upon the shadow that so 
vividly evoked the past, and brought before him the 
image of the one love of his passionate and erring 
heart. He knew that he had been a bad husband, but 
he had some excuse to himself in the circumstances of 
his marriage ; he had refused hitherto to look upon 
Claire’s picture, lest he should break away from the 
ties that bound him, and seek his own freedom at the 
price of such respectability as yet remained to him. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FREE AT LAST. 

T HORNE’S burning eyes devoured the features so 
long hidden away, and he passionately cried : 

“ Oh, my love, my life, my cruelly-treated darling, 
where are you now ? What has been your fate through 
all these years of darkness and estrangement ? Have you 


234 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


given your heart to another ? Have you grown Tard, 
and cold, and ceased to remember the lover of your 
youth? — the unworthy one who gave you up, even 
while you clung to him in such wild abandonment as led 
you to prefer death to life without him ? Ah, no ! while 
I live, you dare not give yourself to another : your faith 
forbids it, and I thank Heaven for that.” 

A sudden feeling of shame seemed to come over him, 
and he thrust the portrait aside, and covered it from 
his sight.. 

“Not- yet, not yet,” he muttered, as he remembered 
his dying wife, and strongly compressing his lips, he 
passed through the door, locking it behind him, and 
moved with light steps towards the furthest wing of 
the house, in which the apartment of Agnes was situ- 
ated. 

Dr. Brandon had returned to his patient, and on 
hearing Thorne’s approach, he came out, and said : 

“ Ah, it is you at last. Mrs. Thorne is ready to see 
you, and she wishes to speak with you with no other 
witness than her daughter.” 

Thorne bowed coldly, and passed into the apartment. 
He glanced keenly at the pale face that lay upon the 
breast of his daughter, and saw that the physician had 
spoken truly. Death was in it, and his heart gave a 
great bound as he thought : 

“I shall, indeed, soon be free, but at what possible 
cost to myself. With her life passes my title to my 
own estate, if Andrew Courtnay chooses to press the 
claim he has on me. Yet, why should I fear about 
that ? It was transferred, no doubt, to Claire, as it 
was won for her benefit. I will seek her, make my 
peace with her at any cost, and then — well, then, we 


FREE AT LAST. 235 

may regain the faint shadow of the happiness we once 
enjoyed with each other.” 

As these thoughts rushed rapidly through his mind, 
he came to the bedside, sat down on a chair that was 
placed near it, and in measured tones said : 

“ You wished to see me, Mrs. Thorne. Can I do 
anything for you ? ” 

She turned her eyes on him, and with some bitter- 
ness, replied : 

“ I sent for you that you may see for yourself how 
near you are to the release for which you have so 
ardently yearned. You have often told me that the 
only thing I could do to please you would be to die, 
and restore to you the freedom of which I had conspir- 
ed with your father to deprive you.” 

“ Agnes, do not let us bandy reproaches now,” he 
more gently said. “ Death condones all wrongs, and 
mine against you have also been great. I am a resent- 
ful man, and I have said and done many things that if 
I were not my father’s son, I might repent of.” 

“It is true, Walter,” went on Mrs. Thorne, as if 
scarcely heeding his words, “ that I hurried you into 
our most unhappy union, but in those days I loved you 
beyond’ expression, and I was mad enough to believe 
that my passion must in time win its reward. I did 
not understand your nature, and I have been bitterly 
punished for the wrong I did you. I found that I only 
inspired disgust where I hoped for love ; but all that 
is past and gone, and it is vain to recur to it. Beneath 
your hardness, all that was soft and gentle in my nature 
soon perished, and I gave back taunt for taunt — bitter- 
ness for bitterness.” 

Agnes paused, exhausted by speaking, and with proud- 
sternness, he replied : 


236 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Then why refer to it now, Mrs. Thorne ? We 
agreed to disagree ; that tells the whole story. * I am 
not a better man for the experience through which I 
have passed with you ; but in this hour let us exchange 
forgiveness ; it is all that is left for us now.” 

“ Yes, all,” was the faint response. “ I sent for 
you not to speak of myself, but of my daughter. For- 
get that she is my child ; think of her only as yours, 
and try to be kind to her when I am gone. I have 
done what I could for her, but now she will be alone, 
and I entreat that you will be a tender and consider- 
ate father to her.” 

Thorne glanced towards the bowed head of May, and 
slowly said : 

“ I cannot imagine why you should deem this charge 
necessary, Agnes. So long as my daughter is obedient 
to my wishes, I shall do for her all that she can reason- 
ably expect. I hope that assurance satisfies you.” 

Mrs. Thorne sighed heavily, and closed her eyes a 
few moments : her lips moved as if in prayer, and then, 
with sudden strength, she raised herself from her 
reclining position, and with feverish energy, replied : 

“And is that all you will say to me even in this 
supreme hour? Yet why should I have hoped for 
more from you ? You hate me to that degree, that you 
shrink from your own child because she is also mine. 
Well, be it so, Walter Thorne, but retribution is pre- 
paring for you. With the clear vision sometimes 
vouchsafed to the dying, I see the future unrolling as 
a scroll before me, and I see that in your turn, you 
will be tortured by an unrequited affection. You will 
love to madness a woman who will only give you the 
ashes of the dead heart consumed by your . own 


FREE AT LAST. 


237 


treachery. I know that you will again seek my rival, 
and she — yes, she, will avenge me. She promised it to 
me long ago, and she is not one to forget a pledge she 
has once given. But she will have no love for my 
poor May, and my darling will be cast out from her 
home, from her inheritance. I see it all. I can com- 
prehend the workings of destiny in this solemn hour, 
and they will be fatal to the only object of my care.” 

The words sunk into passionate sobs, and she fell 
back exhausted on the breast of the weeping girl. 

With sombre haughtiness her husband replied : 

“It seems to me, Agnes, that you but seek to open 
a gulf between my daughter and myself. Why will 
you attempt, in these last moments of your life, to 
implant in her mind distrust of me ? I am her protec- 
tor, her only refuge, and to me she may surely trust to 
render her future safe and happy. As to your pre- 
visions, they are but hallucinations in which I have no 
faith. Claire I have never heard from since the day 
she left Ada Digby’s protection, and if I were inclined 
to seek her, I should not know where she is to be 
found. If I could find her, I would compel her to 
return to me, and renew the vows that were so cruelly 
broken. I will not deny to you that I shall seek such 
happiness as I may now find. I have fasted for*it long 
enough, and my heart is hungry for the sympathy and 
companionship it could not find in my union with you. 
If I could find that wronged one, I would seek her 
through the world, and try to make her forget how 
bitterly I injured her ; but I have little hope of being 
able to do so now. Seventeen years of silence have 
woven about her a pall of darkness and forgetfulness 
which it will now be impossible to penetrate ; even if 


238 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


I succeeded in finding her, she might refuse to forgive 
me for the wron gs of the past.” 

Mrs. Thorne muttered with failing breath — 

“ No — she will not forgive — she will not avenge ” 

Her voice sunk away in a long drawn breath, and 
May uttered a cry of anguish. 

“ Oh, papa, she is dying ! Will you not speak a 
word of kindness to her in her last moments ? ” 

Her father arose, and gloomily looked down on the 
pale face on which the shadows of death were rapidly 
setting. He took the nerveless hand in his own, and 
with a faint touch of feeling, said : 

I forgive you, Agnes, for the bitter past. If I am 
hard, remember that you have made me so ; do not die 
exulting in the belief that you divine for me a future 
more intolerable than my life with you has been.” 

She feebly muttered : 

“ I do not exult in it ; but it will come to you. 
Remember my words, and go on to their fulfillment ; that 
is all I have to say. Kiss me, May, and remember my 
last command.” 

Her daughter bent over her, but her lips met those 
of the dead ; with her last words life had passed 
away, and the poor girl sank fainting upon the pillow. 

With a faint feeling of compunction, Thorne stood a 
moment silently gazing upon the dead and the living, 
and then rang for assistance. May was borne to her 
own apartment, and the attention she required given 
her by the housekeeper. Dr. Brandon came in, and 
after examining his patient, declared life to be extinct. 

With proud composure-, Walter Thorne stood by ; and 
with a hard feeling of exultation he learned that the 
clog which had so long fettered him was removed. 


FREE AT LAST. 


239 


He looked down at the dead face of the wife he had 
despised and tortured, but few remorseful regrets arose 
in his breast. He felt as a man from whose life a 
crushing weight had suddenly been lifted ; and he was 
not disposed to take up a new burden in the moment 
of his long wished-for release. He calmly gave such 
orders as were necessary, for he would not affect a 
grief he did not feel. Indeed, scrutinizing eyes looked 
upon him to ascertain if he did not feel exultation in 
the event of the day. But his conduct was strictly 
decorous, and as soon as possible he retired to the 
privacy of his own apartments, into which no one 
ventured to follow him. 

Thorne did not again uncover that haunting face. 
Some feeling, scarcely comprehensible to himself, 
withheld him from doing so, though he could not 
prevent his thoughts from wandering to that long- 
buried past, and living over in fancy that rapturous 
dream of love and romance. 

Such men as he love with desperation, hate with a 
bitterness unknown to tamer souls, and she who was 
just gone had only possessed the power to arouse the 
tiger in his nature. Even at the last, when he could 
have made an effort to be gentle with her, the estrange- 
ment between them made itself cruelly felt, and he 
had found it impossible to be otherwise than cold and 
hard, even when she was passing away forever. 

He scarcely thought of his daughter at all, he only 
resented the little confidence his wife evidently had in 
him as the guardian of her child’s future happiness, 
when he recalled the last words of Agnes, and mar- 
veled of what nature that command was to which she 
had referred. He half savagely muttered : 


240 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ It was something to place May in opposition to 
me — I understand that very well. But china does not 
do well to come in contact with iron, as her mother 
would have taught her if she had been wise. Well, 
well, we shall see soon enough now.” 

The funeral took place in due time, and a large 
concourse of people came to see Mrs. Thorne laid in 
the family burying ground, and to make such observa- 
tions on the state of affairs at Thornhill as were 
possible. 

They only saw a sombre, stern man, who went 
through the ceremonial with all proper outward respect 
for the dead wife whose heart he was accused of 
having broken, and a pale, drooping girl shrouded in 
crape and bombazine, who shrank with nervous shyness 
from the expressions of sympathy that were addressed 
to her. 

No one ventured to offer- condolences to Mr. Thorne, 
for his relations toward the departed were too well 
known to induce his neighbors to believe that they 
would be well received. 

The ordinary routine of life at Thornhill was scarcely 
interrupted by the decease of the mistress of the estab- 
lishment, for she had so long been an invalid that no 
one looked to her for orders. A competent house- 
keeper had for years been in charge of the establish- 
ment, and no one missed the unhappy lady save that 
desolate girl who looked out from her lonely room with 
the dreary consciousness that she was bereft of the 
only heart that ever loved her. 


PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 


241 


CHAPTER XIY. 

PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 

N OW that his wife was gone, W alter Thorne, with 
some uneasiness, recalled the words of Courtnay 
— that, while she lived, no claim to the large sum he 
had lost to him at the gaming table would be put for- 
ward. He believed that Claire had instigated that 
unusual proceeding, and that to her would be given 
the power to ruin him, if she wished to proceed to 
extremes. 

But Thorne did not feel much uneasiness on that 
score ; he flattered himself that if he could meet her 
again face to face, he could disarm her resentment and 
bring her back to his arms as loving, if less confiding, 
than in those early days of passionate enchantment. 

But to whom should he apply to inform him of all 
that had befallen her through these long years of 
silence and estrangement ? He suspected that Ada 
I)igby could give him the information he so much 
desired to possess, for he felt convinced that a strag- 
gling correspondence was still kept up by her with the 
former object of her care ; but he had quarreled with 
Miss Digby two years before, because he thought she 
too openly espoused the cause of his wife against him- 
self, and no communication was held between Thorn- 
hill and the cottage. 

At present, she was absent from home; and if his 
pride would have stooped to apply to her for the in- 
formation he wanted, his impatience to learn some- 
thing definite would not permit him to await her 

15 


242 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


return. Thorne had held no communication with 
Courtnay since that night, in Washington, four years 
before ; but, shortly after the decease of his wife, he 
addressed him the following letter : 

“ Thornhill, March 2d, IS—. 

“ Mr. Courtnay — Sir : I shall not leave you to 
learn from the public prints that the wife in whose 
existence my title to your forbearance lay, is dead. It 
is now two weeks since she was buried, and I am natu- 
rally anxious to know what effect her decease will . 
have upon my fortune. 

“ In my madness on that fatal night, I lost a sum 
which will cover the entire value of my estate, hand- 
some as it is ; and if you now press for payment, I 
must reduce myself to penury, or become dishonored 
by refusing to pay a debt which gentlemen regard as 
more binding than those secured by law. Of course, 
the last resource will be impossible to me, and but one 
other means of settlement remains. 

“ I have reflected deeply on the singular compact 
you made with me, and I can come to but one conclu- 
sion, and that is, that my first wife is the party to be 
benefited by this transaction. If Claire proposed to 
herself to gain power over me in this way and bring 
me back to my old allegiance to herself, it was a ruse 
unworthy of her and quite unnecessary. 

“ Now that I am free to express my true feelings 
and there is no one to dictate to me the course of action 
I must pursue, I find but one desire in my heart — that 
is, to reclaim my repudiated wife, and endeavor to 
atone to her for the suffering I most unwillingly 
inflicted upon her. You, who have always been the 


PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 


243 


master of your own actions, can scarcely understand 
the force of the pressure brought to bear on me in 
those youthful days in which I was held under the iron 
rule of a father who never swerved from a decision he 
had once made. 

“ The wrong I committed against Claire was to 
marry her at all, knowing as I did the inflexible will I 
had to contend with ; but I was so infatuated that I 
hoped for impossibilities, and I used most questionable 
means to obtain her consent to an elopement. 

“ I do not defend what followed. I was literally 
forced to give her up, or to bring her to poverty. I 
purchased my father’s forgiveness by accepting the 
wife he had chosen for me, but no happiness sprang 
from that union. It is ended now, and I am once 
more free to return to the object around whom all my 
tenderest thoughts have clustered, even while another 
claimed me as her husband. 

“ Claire refused to recognize the validity of the legal 
decision which freed us both, and therefore I believe 
she is still as much my wife as she considered herself 
in the days of our early separation. I do not wish to 
present myself before her as one possessing any right 
over her, but I shall be glad to know where she at 
present resides, that I may seek her and endeavor to 
win forgiveness for that past which I was powerless to 
control. I know that I grievously sinned against her, 
but I was also sinned against myself, and she is not 
the Claire of old, if she refuses to take that into con- 
sideration. 

“ I have never dared inquire concerning her, lest I 
should break from the bonds that bound me and seek 
her in defiance of all. I know that she went to France 


244 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


with your mother, and remained with her half-brother, 
but beyond that all is darkness. Pray, write without 
delay, and inform me of her whereabouts, and also 
enlighten me as to what I am to expect with reference 
to the bond you hold against me. 

“ Respectfully, W. Thorne.” 

After an interval of ten days, a reply came — brief, 
and to the point : 


The Grange, March 7th, 18—. 

“ Mr. Thorne : Permit me to say to you, in reply 
to yours of the 2d, that the bond to which you refer is 
no longer in my possession. What use the party to 
whom it was transferred will choose to make of it, I 
cannot say. The death of your wife was to be the 
signal for action, and I have no power to retard it. 

“As to Claire, I do not think that any concessions 
will avail to obtain her forgiveness for the past, and 
therefore I decline giving you her address. 

“Respectfully, Andrew Courtnay.” 

Walter Thorne read this curt reply with a sardonic 
curl of his lip, but he grew pale as he thought of pos- 
sible consequences to himself. His next thought was, 
how he should pay off the debt if the claim were pre- 
sented. In the last four years, he had saved a consid- 
erable sum from his annual income ; and the settle- 
ment of his wife, if he could gain the control of it, 
would enable him at least, to stave off ruin. 

He had not yet examined her papers, but, under the 
spur of his present excitement, he went in search of 
her desk and brought it to the library for examination. 


PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 


245 


In that she had probably left some clue to the disposi- 
tion of her property. Under the circumstances, it 
may be imagined with what feelings he found and read 
the following letter addressed to himself : 

“January 20th, IS—. 

“Walter: I write to you what I could not tell 
you without a scene of angry recrimination, which I 
am unable to bear in my present state of health. 

“ You are aware that the money left to me by my 
father was placed in the hands of a trustee for the 
benefit of myself. Under the settlement, I have the 
right to dispose of it as I please, and I have left it to 
my daughter to do with as she chooses from the day 
of my death ; but I shall exact from her a promise to 
retain the control of her little fortune, and I request 
you to refrain from attempting to wrest from her what 
I have given her. 

“ I foresee for my poor child a hard and cruel lot. 
You do not love her — you will probably soon seek to 
marry her to some one chosen by yourself, that you may 
free your house from her unwelcome presence. If she 
refuses obedience you will cast her off, and May will 
have nothing to save her from poverty but the sum of 
fifteen thousand dollars which I have bequeathed to 
her. 

“ Allow her to _ retain it in peace, I entreat. Do 
not make her life unhappy by persecuting her to break 
the promise I shall obtain from her. You will not 
succeed, for she is true to her word, and she will not 
recede from what she has pledged herself to do. 

“ My poor child would love you, Walter, if she had 
any encouragement to do so; when I am gone, draw 


246 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


her nearer to your heart, and try to make up to her 
for the loss she will so keenly feel. Deprived of the 
only heart on which she has been permitted to lean, 
she will need consolation ; she will be left alone in the 
world, with no one to turn to but you. Oh, Walter, 
think of this and be kind to her. 

“ If you would lay aside your resentment toward 
Ada Digby, and ask her to come to Thornhill as a 
companion for May, I should feel more willing to leave 
her. Think of this, and if you can gain your own con- 
sent to comply with this last request from her who 
would have been a true and loving wife to you, had 
you not crushed out every spark of affection by your 
own indifference or something worse. 

“Agnes Thorne.” 

Walter Thorne read over these lines with a frowning 
brow, and angry heart. " They did not appeal to 
his better feelings, as their writer had hoped. The 
antagonism between himself and the wife who had 
been forced on his acceptance survived even beyond 
the grave, and with a suppressed oath he muttered : 

“ Ada Digby, indeed ! She shall never come beneath 
my roof to sustain my daughter in rebellion against 
me ; to sit up in judgment on me, as she is so fond of 
doing. So that is settled.” 

With a portentous frown he gathered up the scat- 
tered papers, restored them to the desk from which 
they had been taken, and sharply rang the bell. When 
a servant came he abruptly said : 

“ Inform Miss Thorne that I wish to see her in this 
room.” 

In a few moments May entered, looking pale and 


PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 


247 


agitated, for such a summons was an unusual thing, and 
she feared that something unpleasant was about to 
happen. Thorne pointed to a chair, and brusquely 
said : 

“ I have been looking over your mother’s papers, and 
among them I have found a letter addressed to myself. 
In it she asks me to give you my affectionate care, as 
if she had supposed me such a monster as to withhold 
it, if it is deserved. She has placed you in opposition 
to me on purpose to produce estrangement between us, 
and I have sent for you to see if you value my affec- 
tion sufficiently to make a sacrifice to retain it.” 

May sunk down upon the seat and endeavored to 
stifle the rapid pulsations of her heart at this abrupt 
address. She feared her father much more than she 
loved him, but she possessed a power of resistance he 
had not calculated on. She tremulously replied : 

“ I would do much to gain your approbation, papa, 
but I hoped you would spare me any contest with 
regard to the last wishes of my mother. They are 
sacred to me, sir, and I dare not disobey them.” 

“ So-o — you are ready to assert your independence 
of me, are you ? but I will yet break you to my will, 
and show you, as I did her that is gone, that I am 
master of your fate.” 

“ I promise to do my best to please you, papa ; you 
need have no fear that I shall prove a disobedient 
daughter to you, even if I do refuse to violate the 
promise I gave my poor mother when she lay dying ; 
for of course you refer to that.” 

He angrily said : 

u There is but one thing you can do to prove that 
you understand your duty to me, and that is to comply 


248 


THE DISCAEDED WIFE. 


with the demand I now make to surrender the manage- 
ment of your money to me. I shall waste no words 
on you — I require you to do this.” 

May placed her hand over her palpitating heart, and 
for a few moments the words that formed themselves 
upon her lips refused to come forth. Her father’s stern 
eyes were fixed upon her, and she shrank before their 
fiery light. At length she faltered : 

“ I have every confidence in you, papa, but it is im- 
possible for me to violate the promise I made to the 
dead. I dare not, even if I incur your displeasure by 
refusing to do so. I am your daughter, sir ; I under- 
stand my duty toward you, and the possession of a few 
thousands will not induce me to play the part of a 
rebellious child. Have confidence in me, and respect 
the feeling that dictates opposition to your will.” 

“ Confidence ! I can have none in the prudence of a 
girl of your age. It is an insult to me that you are in 
a measure placed beyond my control. Your mother 
acted thus because she wished, to produce dissension 
between us ; there could have been no other motive for 
such a proceeding. Your beggarly pittance is of small 
importance to a man of my fortune ; but it is enough 
to become a snare for you — to render you an object of 
speculation to some needy spendthrift, who may marry 
you for this money, knowing that with your hand he 
can gain possession of it. It is that I wish to guard 
you against.” 

May recalled what her mother had said on this very 
subject, and her determination was strengthened to be 
firm in her refusal to comply with her father’s demands. 
She gently but decidedly said : 

“•It is very painful to me to refuse what you ask, 


PLANS FOE THE FUTURE. 


249 


papa ; but I cannot break the pledge I gave to my 
mother in her last moments. If you will be gentle and 
kind with me, you shall have no cause to complain of 
me, although I do retain the right to the undisputed 
possession of her legacy.” 

“Am I to understand that you refuse? absolutely 
and positively refuse ? ” 

She bent her head in assent, and Thorne started from 
his seat and paced the floor rapidly for many moments. 
May trembled in the anticipation of a violent outburst 
of passion, such as she had often witnessed between 
himself and her mother ; but angry as he was, her 
father controlled the torrent of furious words that were 
ready to burst from his lips. He saw how much the 
poor girl had suffered, for she looked scarcely able to be 
out of her bed, and he also felt the assurance that if 
she possessed any portion of his spirit she would not 
submit to be trampled on. 

Thorne thought it best to try other means to subdue 
her to his will, and he at length stopped in front of her, 
and in measured tones said : 

“ There is but one way left to protect you from the 
dangers I foresee for you. Until you have acceded to 
my demand, I will seclude you from society ; you shall 
live here alone under the strict watch of Mrs. Benson, 
for I can trust her to play the part of the duenna. 
You shall visit no one — receive no guests. Our neigh- 
bors do not trouble themselves much about us, but if 
any of them should call, I shall order them to be refus- 
ed admittance. You will go nowhere but to church, 
and not even there, unless the housekeeper can accom- 
pany you. We shall see how you will bear this en- 
forced solitude, for I am going away in a few days, to 


250 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


be absent I do not know how long. If you repent of 
your obstinacy and yield to my demand, I will take 
you to some fashionable place of resort this summer, 
and give you such advantages as my only child should 
enjoy. If not, you can remain immured here till I find 
some one to take you off my hands.” 

May bowed her head and faintly said : 

“ I must submit to your will, sir, though it will be 
cruel to leave me here with no society at all. Mrs. 
Benson is not an educated woman, and she is no com- 
panion for me. I venture to entreat that you will ask 
my cousin, Ada Digby, to come to me. She is the only 
person who would be willing to do so for my mother’s 
sake ; and in my present state of feeling her society 
will be more congenial to me than that of younger per- 
sons.” 

“ I dare say,” he scornfully replied. “ But it is not 
my object to give you a congenial companion. Besides, 
Ada Digby is the last person I would voluntarily ask 
to come to my house as an inmate. She is a meddle- 
some person, who takes it on herself to give her opin- 
ion on subjects that do not concern her. You may give 
up the hope of having her for your friend, for I will 
never tolerate her presence near me. If you find the 
life to which I condemn you intolerable, all you have 
to do to change it is to notify me of your willingness 
to comply with the terms I just now stated.” 

“ Oh, papa ! I shall die in this solitude ! ” exclaimed 
May. “ If my cousin is not permitted to come to me, 
I entreat that you will place me in a good boarding- 
school where I can complete my imperfect education.” 

“ And have a notification sent to me from the prin- 
cipal in a few months, that you have eloped with some 


PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 251 

popinjay,” he sardonically replied. “ No, thank you, 
Miss Thorne ; I shall not place you in the way of such 
a temptation as that. To allow you to go forth into 
the world on any terms would defeat the object I have 
in view. Your education is certainly not what it should 
be, but if I find you unmanageable, I shall employ a 
private teacher who will be in my interests. I will 
hold the disposal of your fate in my own hands, in spite 
of the efforts made by your mother to place it beyond 
my control.” 

“ Oh, papa ! my mother had no such intention, nor 
have I a thought that is in opposition to you. Only love 
me — only be kind to your poor desolate child, and I 
will do all that is possible to please you.” 

Mr. Thorne inflexibly replied : 

“ I ask but one thing of you. Grant that and there 
will be no cause of disagreement between us. The 
absurd settlement made by your dead mother should 
not stand in opposition to the will of your living 
father.” 

May clasped her hands over her brow, and mentally 
asked for strength to combat this iron will. The 
father sat silently watching her, believing that she was 
about to yield ; but, after a struggle for composure, 
she firmly replied : 

“ I cannot do what you ask, sir. Remorse would 
haunt me if I complied with your demand. I find 
myself placed in a cruel position, but I must do what 
I believe to be right.” 

Finding her so unyielding, Thorne’s anger burst 
forth in a torrent of bitter words which he could no 
longer repress. He forgot all she had lately borne, or 
was reckless of it, for Walter Thorne never restrained 


252 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


the expression of his rage when it mastered him. The 
pale girl put up her hand in a deprecating manner, but 
he heeded her not, and as she attempted to rise from 
her seat she sunk nearly insensible at his feet. 

He almost spurned her from him, as he con- 
temptuously exclaimed : 

“ Puling, sentimental fool ! with no strength either 
of body or mind ! It is enough to turn a man’s brain 
to have two such women to deal with as this girl and 
her mother. I am rid of one, thank Heaven ! and I’ll 
find some one to take the other off my hands as soon 
as possible.” 

His daughter had sunk down from weakness and 
exhaustion, but her senses had not entirely deserted 
her, and she heard and comprehended his cruel words. 
She made an effort to raise herself, and Thorne furi- 
ously rang the bell. 

A servant answered it so promptly as to induce the 
belief that she had been hovering somewhere in the 
vicinity of the library. He pointed to May, and 
sternly said : 

“ Assist Miss Thorne to her room, and tell Mrs. 
Benson that I wish to see her here immediately.” 

The girl offered her hand to her young mistress, and 
aided her to rise. May turned her agitated face 
toward her father, and her white lips moved as if try- 
ing to syllable words, but the imperious domestic 
autocrat haughtily said : 

“ Go to your apartment, and remain there. I wish 
to hear nothing more from you at present ; nor will 
you see me again while I remain here, unless you bend 
your stubborn will to mine.” 

A faint gleam of color came into her pallid face, and 


PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 


253 


the flash of the dark eyes raised to his own for a single 
instant showed him that a feeling of resistance was 
aroused in that helpless girl which he would find it 
very difficult to conquer. May closed her lips firmly, 
and walked without assistance toward the door. 

As it closed on her, her father muttered : 

“ There was a flash of the Thorne spirit, but it won’t 
do with me. That rebellious girl shall yet find that I 
am her master. I almost wish I had said nothing on 
the subject, vital as the possession of this money is to 
me just now ; but, as I have laid down the law, she 
must abide the consequences, if she refuses to succumb. 
The men of my race have never allowed women to rule 
them.” 

The Thornes, of Thornhill, had indeed been an 
imperious race: they had been known in the State 
since its first settlement by William Penn. The 
founder of the family was the younger son of a wealthy 
English gentleman ; and, with the money he brought 
with him to the colonies, he purchased large tracts of 
land from the Indians, which, in time, became very 
valuable. He married a young French girl whose 
parents escaped from the Huguenot persecutions in 
their native land, and found an asylum in Maryland. 

Basil Thorne left an only son to inherit his large 
estate, and when that son was gathered to his fathers, 
two children divided the paternal inheritance. The 
daughter married and removed with her husband to 
South Carolina ; and her brother remained on the 
paternal acres as the representative of his family. He 
led a fast and dissipated life, and, when he died, his 
widow and son were left with the mere wreck of his 
magnificent fortune. The mother was a woman of 


254 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


strong sense and great pride. She saw in her young 
son the germs of talent, and she sacrificed her remain- 
ing resources to afford him a thorough education. He 
repaid her by his devotion to study, and afterward by 
his diligence in the profession she had chosen- for him. 
The elder Walter Thorne became a distinguished and 
successful lawyer ; regained a large portion of the pat- 
rimony his father had squandered ; and shortly after 
his marriage with a penniless Spanish girl, he re-built 
the family residence in handsome style. His wife died 
in the second year of their union, leaving one son, the 
haughty, obstinate and imperious man, who, like his 
ancestors, would not permit himself to be thwarted 
with impunity, or forgive the person who had crossed 
his path. 

The musings of Thorne on this family history were 
interrupted by a tap upon the door ; the next instant 
it opened, and a stout, middle-aged woman, with some 
pretensions to beauty, came in. She smiled, courtesied, 
and her employer pointed to a chair, and said : 

“ Sit down, if you please, Mrs. Benson ; I wish to 
speak with you on business.” 

The housekeeper spread out her black skirts, sim- 
pered, and prepared to listen to what he had to say. 
She was a sharp, inquisitive-looking woman, with 
small black eyes and a turned- up nose : her mouth had 
a disagreeable expression, but the lips were red and 
full, and her complexion still fair and blooming. Mrs. 
Benson’s dress was always scrupulously neat; and, in 
her own department, she was an unrivalled manager. 
She fully understood her own value, and stood very 
little in awe of the man who made all the rest of his 
household tremble before him. 


PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 


255 


Finding that Mr. Thorne did not speak at once, Mrs. 
Benson demurely said : 

“ I hopes, sir, that nothing ain’t gone wrong in which 
I am discerned. I have tried to please you to the 
very best of my debility, Mr. Thorne.” 

The housekeeper’s abuse of language was too famil- 
iar to him to elicit a smile, though the heavy frown 
faded from his brow, and he lightly replied : 

“ You are a jewel of a manager, Mrs. Benson, and I 
am perfectly satisfied with all you have done. I sum- 
moned you hither to show you the perfect confidence 
I have in you, by entrusting you with the control of 
my daughter during my absence. I shall be away 
some time, and I wish you to keep a strict watch over 
May every day of her life.” 

The woman looked surprised. She said: “I’m 
ready to do whatever you remand, sir, but I hardly 
think Miss May will remit to have me put over her.” 

“ Of course you are ready to obey my orders, let 
them concern whom they may ; and it is you who are 
not to remit your vigilant care over your charge while 
I am gone. Miss Thorne and myself have had a mis- 
understanding, which will prove rather a serious thing 
for her, unless she comes to her proper senses, and is 
made to understand that I am the arbiter of her des- 
tiny. I shall leave Thornhill to-morrow for an indefi- 
nite period, and I commit my daughter to your especial 
charge. She is not to see any one except the old 
German who gives her lessons in music and drawing. 
I do not wish visitors to be admitted, if any should 
come ; and May is not to go beyond the grounds on 
any pretext, except to church ; nor is she to go there, 
unaccompanied by you. I wish you to understand 


256 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


that, on such occasions, you are to keep your eyes 
open, and allow her to speak with no one.” 

Mrs. Benson stretched her small eyes very wide, and 
blurted out, “ She ain’t thinking of falling in love 
with nobody, I hope, sir; ef she ain’t, it’s curus 
that you are so pertickler all to onct. I ain’t hearn 
tell o’ anybody cornin’ here arter her, though she’s a 
nice-looking young lady, and a great heiress, too.” 

Thorne bit his lips, and haughtily said : 

“ That may or may not be, Mrs. Benson. If my 
daughter had proved herself worthy of my confidence, 
she would certainly have had a sufficient fortune from 
me ; but, as matters stand at present, I scarcely think 
she will ever inherit Thornhill. My property is my 
own, to dispose of as I please, and it will certainly not 
descend to the child who has placed herself in opposi- 
tion to my wishes. I desire that others shall also 
understand this ; I do not choose to have fortune- 
hunters coming in pursuit of Miss Thorne. Her 
mother has left her something — but, little as it is, it 
may tempt persons of that class, and May is yet very 
young and inexperienced. It is to guard her from 
making an unsuitable match, that I leave her under 
your strict charge. I shall hold you responsible . for 
her ; you are not to lose sight of her when she walks 
out ; you are an active woman, and can take as much 
exercise as she is likely to desire. I hope you under- 
stand me, Mrs. Benson ; I will make it worth while to 
you to play the part of Cerberus while I am away.” 

He took out his pocket-book, and laid before her a 
note of considerable value. The black eyes of the 
housekeeper twinkled with greed, and her fat hand 
closed on the bribe as she diffidently said : 


PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 


257 


“ Many thanks, sir, for your renificence ; but I don’t 
perzactly know what a Cerbus is. Ef you’ll tell me, 
I’ll try to be it, I’m sure.” 

Thorne laughed at this, and lightly said : 

“ Well, Madame Malaprop, Cerberus was a particu- 
larly sharp watch-dog, whose services were important 
to the ancient of days. I wish you to be as watchful, 
and as faithful as he was said to be, and I shall have 
no cause of complaint against you.” 

“ I’m sure I shan’t give you none, sir ; but I don’t 
know how Miss May will stand it. She ain’t fond o’ 
me no how, and I’m afeard she’ll run restiff if I am set 
to watch her, though in course I’ll do my best, sir, to 
keep her from harm ; she’ll think her dignitude is put 
on some, I guess, sir, she’ll begin to stand on it.” 

“ Miss Thorne understands from me that you are to 
be responsible for her. I have issued my orders to her, 
and I scarcely think she will attempt to disobey them ; 
you need not regard her dignity ; all you have to do is 
to maintain your own, and from my knowledge of you 
I think you will be perfectly able to do that. Perfect 
seclusion is what I desire for my daughter. She is to 
be made to feel that she is held a prisoner in these 
grounds, and never to be permitted to go beyond them 
un watched until she has yielded to the demand I made 
of her this morning. What that demand was is no 
concern of yours ; all you have to do is to be faithful 
to the trust I have reposed in you, and earn a pretty 
addition to your salary by exercising your vigilance 
while I am away. I believe you now fully understand 
what is required of you ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, I think I do. I will keep Miss May all 

16 


258 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


right and safe till yon come back to Thornhill ; but I 
hopes, sir, that you’ll not be long away.” 

“ My return is uncertain, but you will write to me 
regularly, sending my letters to Washington to the old 
address. The gloom of this place oppresses me — I 
must have a change. But whenever I do come back, 
Mrs. Benson, it will be to inaugurate a new style of 
life here. I have lived as a hermit long enough, and 
some day I shall throw open my doors and till the house 
with compan}^. Your position will hardly be a sine- 
cure then, eh, Mrs. Benson ? ” 

“ So much the better, sir ; ’taint no sin to love com- 
pany, an’ I aint naterally fond of solertude. I’d rather 
take the trouble to git up a dinner for twenty people 
than to sit down to the table gloom like with only two 
or three. But discuse me, sir, I don’t mean to insin- 
erate nothin’ agin my way of life here. I’ve saved 
money in your service, Mr. Thorne, an’ I’ve had a good 
time in this house, since I’ve lived in it a managin’ of 
all its consarns myself.” 

“ I am glad to hear that you are satisfied, Mrs. Ben- 
son, and it will be your own fault if you do not have 
a better time in the days that are coming.” 

The housekeeper flushed slightly, and wondered 
what the last words meant : but Thorne did not notice 
her embarrassment, and calmly went on : 

“ But for the gossip of the people of the neighbor- 
hood I would bring my friends around me at once, and 
make the old place as gay as it used to be in my father’s 
best days. But that will not answer here so soon after 
the death of my wife. I must keep up appearances, 
you know.” 

“ Oh, as to that, sir, so rich a gentleman as you can 


PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. 


259 


do what he pleases ; you needn’t care about other peo- 
ple’s palaver. It won’t come to nothin’ arter all ; it’s 
only spent breath you know, sir, an’ you aint the per- 
son to care for that. I’d do jest as I chose, and never 
mind other folks’ gab. I never thought you did care 
for it much afore.” 

“Well, the truth is, I don’t care as much for the 
vox populi as I ought,” he replied with a laugh, “but I 
expected you to be the last one to advise me to dis- 
regard such things, Mrs. Benson.” 

He often took a mischievous pleasure in puzzling the 
housekeeper by using such words as she could not 
comprehend, but nothing daunted she said : 

“ If you only give grand entertainments, Mr. Thorne, 
you will always be in the popular box ; and as to the 
countenances of the people, you’ll soon see ’em bright- 
en up, an’ look smiling enough when they sit down to 
one of your fine dinners, or suppers ; an’ it’s me that 
will do my best to keep up the credit of the house.” 

“ I don’t doubt it, Mrs. Benson ; and when the new 
regime is established, you shall have carte blanche as to 
the expense.” 

Mrs. Benson pondered a moment over his meaning, 
but she would not appear ignorant, and she finally said ; 
“ If you should bring a whole team in a cart, sir, there 
will be no need of getting blankets to cover them. 
That expense won’t be necessary, for we have plenty 
of bedclothes, and to spare.” 

“ So much the better, Mrs. Benson ; and now hav- 
ing said all that is necessary, I will give you your 
conge.” 

“ Thank you, kindly, sir ; whatever you are willing 
to give me, I will thankfully accept,” and the house- 


260 THE DISCARDED WIFE. 

keeper arose and courtesied, comprehending the motion 
of his hand toward the door as a signal for her to re- 
tire, though profoundly mystified as to what he pro- 
posed to give her. 

“ Something handsome, I dare say,” she thought, as 
she left the room, “ for Mr. Thorne is a liberal gentle- 
man, in spite of his strange ways an’ the hard words 
he is so fond of using. I wish my edication hadn’t been 
so poor ; I h’aint much book lamin’, but I’ve made the 
most o’ my opportunties, an’ I don’t lack sense. What 
could he have meant by saying ’twould be my own 
fault ef I didn’t have a better time in this house than 
I’ve had afore ? I’m not a bad-looking woman, and he 
wants a good manager for his house. Who knows 
what may happen ? for Mr. Thorne’s known to be so 
bad tempered that it wouldn’t be eesy for him to find 
another wife among the high-flyers he belongs to. I 
ain’t afeard on him, an’ ef I’m cute enough, mebbe I 
may be mistress here in place of housekeeper one of 
these days. It’s worth trying for, anyhow ; an’ 1 
wouldn’t be put down like that poor sickly creetur was 
that’s jest gone.” 

Indulging in these fallacious hopes, Mrs. Benson 
carefully put away the money her employer had given 
her, and hastened to order for dinner such things as 
she knew he particularly liked. Many a man has been 
won, she well knew, by attention to his physical 
comfort, and she began to hope that the master of 
Thornhill might prove one of that class, though 
hitherto she had had little reason to think so. 

Thorne was abstemious in his habits except in the 
use of wine, and he cared little what was provided for 
him if it was properly prepared and handsomely served. 


A NEW DEVELOPMENT. 


261 


As May was forbidden to leave her chamber for the 
present, the scheming housekeeper had the field to 
herself ; she presided at the supper table, and poured 
out the fragrant tea, but she felt rather crest-fallen to 
observe that Mr. Thorne was too much absorbed in his 
own thoughts to be conscious of the exquisite flavor of 
the viands she had assisted to prepare with her own 
fair hands. 

He did not speak a word during the repast, and left 
her alone as soon as he had satisfied his appetite. She 
consoled herself for this by reflecting that he was 
annoyed by the conduct of Jus daughter, and again 
deluded herself with anticipations of what might be. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A NEW DEVELOPMENT. 

ALTER THORNE did not again attempt to see 



vv his daughter before his departure, but he left 
for her a few brief lines informing her that when she 
had made up her mind to render him the obedience he 
had a right to demand, she could write to him, and 
Mrs. Benson would forward her letter. Until then, he 
had no wish to receive any communication from her. 

Thus coldly and harshly did he leave the poor girl 
to the solitude of that desolate house. Romantic, 
tender, capable of loving deeply and truly, May found 
herself in the first flush of youth, shut out from all 
that is most ardently desired in the budding spring 
time of life. 


262 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


As the weeks passed on, so dreadful did the tedium 
of her life become, that if she had dared, she would 
have sacrificed her little fortune to gain a release from 
it ; but when she was tempted to do so, the face of her 
dying mother arose before her with its expression of 
pale earnestness, and she shrank from violating the 
pledge she had given, as if from a sacrilege. 

Miss Thorne saw no one save the domestics of the 
family, and an old gray-haired German who came out 
twice a week to give her a music lesson ; Mr. Herber 
was so stupid, and so much wrapped up in his profes- 
sion, that he could talk on no other subject ; but unin- 
teresting as he was, even his visits came to be looked 
forward to by the lonely girl as an agreeable diversion 
to the monotony of her weary life. 

Weeks lapsed into months, and still there was no 
intimation from her father of any intention to return 
to Thornhill. No communication had passed between 
them, though May was aware that at regular intervals 
the housekeeper wrote to Mr. Thorne, and received a 
few lines in reply, containing directions as to the 
management of the place ; but he rarely referred to 
his daughter in any way. 

The solitary girl would not make a companion of 
Mrs. Benson, for her pretentious ignorance was too 
distasteful to her ; besides, May soon suspected that 
she was placed as a spy over her. She could not leave 
the house without finding her on her steps, but she 
avenged herself on the fat housekeeper by walking far 
and fast, in the hope that she would repent of the part 
she had undertaken to perform, and give up her annoy- 
ing surveillance. 

May did not like Mrs. Benson, but she was always 


A NEW DEVELOPMENT. 


263 


polite to her, and her pride prevented her from remon- 
strating against her watchfulness. If her father chose 
to subject her to such indignity, she must bear it, but 
she would make no sign by which her duenna could 
discover how much she resented her forced compan- 
ionship. But her heart grew bitter and hardened 
towards the parent who- treated her in so shameful a 
manner, and she thought herself justified in taking any 
measure that would free her from his tyranny. 

May thought many times of writing to Miss Digby 
to entreat her to receive her beneath her roof ; if 
consent was given, she would elope from her dreary 
prison, and never return to it unless brought back by 
force. But she remembered that she was not of age, 
and she felt certain that her father would reclaim her 
at all hazards ; so that avenue of escape closed before 
her, and she sunk into that state of apathy in which 
nothing gives pleasure. 

Music, for which she had great taste, jarred on her 
nerves ; books became a weariness, and the long exhaust- 
ing walks she daily took were only tolerable because 
they fatigued her to that degree that sleep came as a 
blessing and wrapped her in forgetfulness for many 
hours after they were over. 

In this dearth of social enjoyment the solitary girl 
eagerly read such newspapers as came to the house. 
Mr. Thorne subscribed for several of the leading 
journals of New York and Philadelphia, and reading 
them seemed, in some way, to link her with the active, 
stirring crowds in which she so ardently longed to enter, 
that she might seek and find the companionship and 
sympathy denied her in her own home. 

When the news of the day was exhausted May read 


264 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


the advertisements, because they gave her an idea of 
the busy, bustling life beyond her retreat. One 
column in the city papers afforded her most vivid in- 
terest. It was that in which advertisements addressed 
to lost or absent ones is found, and she pondered over 
them for hours, constructing fanciful romances from 
such hints as they afforded. 

One day, in looking over the paper, she found the 
following lines : 

“ A lonely heart seeks companionship. The writer 
of this is young — not ill-looking ; he possesses where- 
withal to make life a fairy scene of enchantment, but, 
alas ! he is painfully shy, and cannot make the first 
advances, unless some encouragement is given him 
beforehand. Fair Eve, who is destined to become the 
minister of happiness to your lonely Adam, pray send 
a response to this appeal, and it will be joyfully re- 
ceived, and promptly responded to. Address A. R., 
box No. , Philadelphia.” 

May smiled over this singular appeal, and wondered 
if the writer expected anything to come of it ; but the 
opening words struck an answering chord in her heart, 
and she read it again and again, each time trying to 
picture the appearance of the writer more vividly to 
her fancy. 

There was one point of sympathy between them, at 
least ; he was lonely in heart, and who could under- 
stand that better than the neglected daughter of 
Walter Thorne? May kept that paper on her table, 
and day after day she read the advertisement, till an 
interest in its writer was aroused which the dull same- 
ness of her outer life only deepened and intensified. 


A NEW DEVELOPMENT. 


265 


At length she was tempted to reply to him. Per- 
haps he was the knight who would break her bonds, 
and give her the freedom she so ardently panted for. 
He was not one of the fortune-hunters against whom 
her father had warned her, for he already possessed 
sufficient means of his own ; and it never occurred to 
the inexperienced girl that the writer of the advertise- 
ment could deliberately intend to deceive her who 
in good faith would reply to him. 

The craving want of sympathy and companionship 
is the only excuse I can offer for her ; but the impru- 
dent step which might have sealed her unhappiness for 
life, led to an acquaintance with one who proved him- 
self worthy of the affection he won, though that person 
was not the writer of the appeal which had so deeply 
interested her. 

The advertisement inserted in the paper had been 
written in a frolic by a young law student in Philadel- 
phia, that he might amuse himself with the replies he 
received. He had no idea of anything beyond that ; 
for, except that he was young, Alfred Ransom was the 
reverse of all he had represented himself. Vanity 
might have induced him to believe that he was not ill- 
looking — but he was short, stout and dark, with coarse 
features, and ill-made hands and feet. A more un- 
promising hero for a romance could scarcely have been 
found ; nor did he possess the means he had referred 
to, as his allowance from his father barely sufficed to 
afford him a meager maintenance while pursuing his 
studies. 

Ransom sat in his dingy room beside a table covered 
with letters, all of which had been sent in reply to his 
advertisement, and he was laughing like a madman 


266 the discarded wife. 

over some of them, when an application for admittance 
was made at his door. He shouted to the visitor to 
come in, and a slender, fair young man entered, bring- 
ing with him several books. 

“ Ah, it’s you, Sinclair ; you’re just in time, old 
fellow ; come here and have some fun. Such a lot of 
stuff as that advertisement of mine has showered on 
me is perfectly astounding. Women must be precious 
guys to believe in such chaff as a matrimonial adver- 
tisement.” 

The young man thus addressed came forward and 
stood beside the table with an expression on his fair 
and honest face that was easily deciphered. It was 
one of disapprobation verging on disgust. He was a 
very pleasing-looking person, with a bright, candid 
face, clear, dark-blue eyes, and a quantity of soft 
brown hair thrown back from a broad, intellectual 
brow. In a tone of reproof, he said : 

“ How can you amuse yourself in so questionable a 
manner, Ransom ? Many of the women who wrote 
those replies were no more in earnest than you are ; 
but a few among them may have been, and if so you 
have much to answer for.” 

“ Stuff ! don’t begin to lecture, old sobersides, for 
I’m in no humor to listen. My life was beginning to 
stagnate, and I must find something to amuse me — I 
can’t afford to be extravagant, so I’ve played the senti- 
mental. Here’s one who tells me she has gushing sen- 
sibilities, a heart tuned to all the tender emotions, and 
all that gammon. Read them yourself, Harry, and 
see what prime fun it is to have such lots of love made 
to such a looking fellow as I am.” 

Sinclair smiled faintly, but shook his head. 


A NEW DEVELOPMENT. 


267 


“ I tried to dissuade you from this folly, Albert, but 
you would not listen to me. I do not wish to read 
any of the replies elicited by your false appeal to pub- 
lic sympathy. As to your looks, they are good enough 
to win you a wife when you are able to take one.” 

“ Are they ? I’m glad to hear that, though I protest 
that my glass does not flatter me to the same extent. 
You need not have any scruples about looking over 
these precious effusions, for I don’t suppose their 
writers were verdant enough to put their true names 
to them. By Jupiter! I am wrong though, for here 
is one that seems to mean more than the others, and 
the name at the end is one I know very well too. Ah, 
if that advertisement had only told the truth, what a 
happy man I might be. Look — you will read this, 
Harry, for it was written by one of the sweetest little 
budding women in the land.” 

Ransom thrust between the eyes of his companion a 
rose-tinted billet, which exhaled a delicate perfume. 
It was open, and Sinclair saw the name at the bottom 
of the page — “ May Thorne.” 

He smiled faintly as he pointed to the signature, and 
said : 

“ I should say that was the most fanciful name se- 
lected by any of your fair correspondents.” 

“ But it is a real name, and I have seen the girl that 

bears it. It is not long ago, either : I was in L 

attending to some business for my father a month ago, 
as you already know. While there, I went to church, 
and saw the writer of this letter under the convoy of a 
regular she-dragon. 

“ A guardianship she seems to need,” was the dry 
response. 


268 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ But wait till you know all tliat I can tell you. 
May Thorne is barely sixteen — she knows nothing of 
life, and she is allowed no opportunity to mingle with 
young persons of her own age. Her mother died last 
winter, and she has been shut up at Thornhill — that is, 
not exactly shut up, for she can walk in the grounds 
around the place, and they are quite extensive ; but 
she isn’t allowed to see any company, nor to go out 
without having that fat old housekeeper trudging after 
her. Her father is a tyrant, who goes off to seek his 
own pleasure, leaving her so much alone that I hardly 
wonder at the poor thing being touched by my lying 
advertisement. Just read the few lines she has ven- 
tured to write : I declare, they make me feel that 
you were right, after all, Harry, to dissuade me from 
such a piece of villainy.” 

He thrust the paper in Sinclair’s hand, and he invol- 
untarily glanced over the contents. The words were 
simple enough, but they evidently came from the heart 
of the writer, and they touched that of the reader. He 
slowly said : 

“ It was very imprudent in her to write this, but she 
must be veiy honest-hearted herself to believe your 
statements, and reply to them in good faith. What you 
have told me is some excuse for her, however ; but 
why should her father act so harshly toward her ?” 

“ Because he’s afraid some man will snap her up 
who is on the lookout for an heiress. Mr. Thorne has 
taken pains to let it be known that she will not inherit 
his estate, but she has a few thousands from her 
mother that he thinks might tempt some needy adven- 
turer to make love to her. if she hadn’t a dime, she 
is sweet enough and pretty enough to attract any man. 


A NEW DEVELOPMENT. 


269 


If I was only as handsome a fellow as you are now, 
after this romantic commencement, I might go in and 
win ; but she is too refined and delicate to fancy such 
a rough-looking Caliban as I am.” 

“ What is Miss Thorne’s style ? ” asked Sinclair, 
with a feeling of interest he could not repress. 

“ Just your opposite, Harry. She is fairy-like, with 
black hair, and eyes that are like stars. She isn’t a 
great beauty, and she is pretty and graceful. I declare 
I feel as mean as if I had done her a great wrong.” 

“ Don’t take it too much to heart, Alfred : no harm 
will be done unless you reply to her letter and entrap 
her into a correspondence that will mean nothing.” 

“I’ll never do that. I’ll tear it up, but I shall keep 
the others to have my own fun over.” 

He held out his hand for the missive, but Sinclair 
smiled and said : 

“ Allow me to keep it, Al. ; I am interested in what 
you have told me about its writer, and when I go to 

L to attend the circuit court next month, I shall 

try to see her. What church does she attend ? ” 

“ The Episcopal Chapel on street ; you may 

keep the note if you choose, but if }^ou were to seek 
her acquaintance, her father would give you a rebuff. 
He would be sure to class a poor lawyer among the 
fortune-seekers.” 

“No man can be called poor who has brains, educa- 
tion, and a willingness to work,” said Sinclair, in re- 
ply. “ As Miss Thorne is not to inherit her father’s 
wealth, the few thousands you spoke of could scarcely 
influence a man deserving of the name, to make her 
his wife. I do not know that I shall attempt to ap- 
proach her at all, so let us dismiss the subject. Here 


270 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


are the books you wanted, and I hope you will make 
such good use of them as to make sure of your license 
at the close of the present term.” 


CHAPTER XYI. 

MAY GETS AN ANSWER. 

T HE two young men introduced in the -last chapter, 
were connected by marriage : Sinclair’s aunt was 
the stepmother of Ransom, and they were thus thrown 
into association. But for that, the high-toned and 
refined nature of the elder man would have shrunk 
from intimate contact with the younger one. Sinclair 
used his influence as far as possible to keep his erratic 
friend within due bounds, but Ransom would not 
always listen to his advice. He now insisted on keep- 
ing the numerous letters he had received, to be laughed 
over among his particular set, and his friend allowed 
him to do so in consideration of the scented billet he 
had rescued from the man to whom it should never 
have been addressed. 

Alone in his own room, Sinclair took it out, and with 
envious interest examined every line of the delicate 
and lady-like writing. The faint scent of violets still 
lingered around the paper, and as he inhaled it, the 
graceful form of the fair writer arose before his fancy 
in the girlish beauty and simplicity Ransom had describ- 
ed. He was fascinated by it, he could not have ex- 
plained why, and he soon began to feel a yearning 
desire to look on the lonely creature who had taken so 


MAY GETS AN ANSWER. 


271 


equivocal a step in the hope that one human heart 
would become interested in her forlorn fate. The note 
contained these words : 

“ One lonely heart may respond to another. I have 
borne the burden of solitude so long that I am weary 
of it, and I know how to sympathize with another in 
the same position. 

“ I am young, but I shall tell you nothing more. If 
you are in earnest, we can meet at a future day, and 
when we stand face to face, we shall know if fate has 
designed us for each other. In the mean time it will 
break the monotony of my life to correspond with you, 
and I can receive your letters under cover to Nancy 
Bean at L . May Thorne.” 

Sinclair read these lines over until he knew them by 
heart, and then carefully put them away in his pocket- 
book, with the vague intention of replying to them if 
the outward semblance of their writer should please 
his fastidious taste. He was a young man of fair pros- 
pects, fine talents and great ambition to win a distin- 
guished position in the profession he had chosen ; but 
he had very little fortune. 

That, however, afforded him small annoyance at 
present, for he confided in his own industry and ability 
to win not only competence, but wealth, in the career 
that was opening before him. He stood alone in the 
world, for the aunt to whom I have before referred was 
the only relative he possessed. His family was res- 
pectable, and his father, a man of high principle and 
stern integrity, had lived long enough to impress his 
own characteristics upon his son. 


272 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Young, handsome, gifted with a graceful address that 
prepossessed all with whom he was thrown in contact, 
there was no bar to Sinclair’s success in life, and he 
looked forward with the buoyant consciousness that in 
himself he held resources that ensured it, if life and 
health were only granted him. To make a home for 
himself — to surround the woman of his choice with 
comforts and luxuries purchased by the fruits of his 
own labor, was his dream ; but who that Egeria was 
to be he had not yet discovered, for he had been too 
busy preparing himself for the career he meant to run 
to think of falling in love. 

He went to L to attend court, for he already had 

a fair share of business for a young practitioner. He 
arrived in the town on Saturday evening, and the next 
morning, after a careful toilette, sought the church in 
which Miss Thorne worshiped. He had induced Ran- 
som to describe to him the exact situation of the pew 
belonging to the Thorne family, and by going at an 
early hour he obtained a seat which commanded a view 
of it. 

The bell had scarcely ceased ringing when a fat, 
over-dressed woman entered it, followed by a young 
girl in deep mourning. After bowing her face upon 
the prayer desk a few moments, she raised her head 
and threw back the heavy crape veil that shrouded her 
features. Sinclair was more struck by her refined style 
of beauty than Ransom had been : lie did not think her 
merely pretty, for the marble purity of her complex- 
ion, the dark liquid eyes and perfect regularity of her 
features, entitled her to higher praise, he thought. 

As the congregation gathered, May looked around 
with the naive curiosity and interest of a child, but 


MAY GETS AN ANSWER. 


2TB 


when the clergyman ascended the pulpit, and, at the 
close of the voluntary, uttered the sublime words, 
“ The Lord is in his holy temple ; let all the earth 
keep silence before him,” she opened her prayer-book 
and became absorbed in the service. At its close she 
gave her undivided attention to the preacher, though 
the watchful observer saw that the fair face gradually 
lost its expression of rapt devotion, and one of weari- 
ness and unutterable sadness crept over it. 

Sinclair went back to the hotel thinking more of the 
isolated girl he had so closely observed than of the 
truths he had heard expounded by a speaker noted for 
his eloquence. Two strangers who sat near him at the 
dinner table were freely discussing Walter Thorne and 
his affairs, and the young man could not avoid over- 
hearing them. One of them said : 

“It is scarcely three months since Thorne’s wife 
died, and he has consoled himself already. They say 
he is in pursuit of a rich wife. I dare say he needs 
money, for they say that he has lost large sums at the 
gaming-table, and I have heard it whispered that the 
reason he shuts his daughter up at Thornhill is to pun- 
ish her for withholding from him the few thousands 
her mother left her. I only hope she’ll not let him get 
possession of them, for he’d scatter them fast enough, 
and in the end he might leave her unprovided for.” 

“ I saw her in church to-day,” replied the other, “ in 
company with that coarse housekeeper, who is no fit 
guardian for her. I do not know how so proud a man 
as Thorne can permit his daughter to be held in a sort 
of bondage by an ignorant and under-bred woman like 
Mrs. Benson. I pity the poor girl, for no one is allow- 
17 


274 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


ed to see her, and she never goes beyond the grounds 
of Thornhill, except to church.” 

“ I wonder, for my part, that May does not effect her 
escape, for she comes of a haughty and defiant race on 
one side, and her mother had too much spirit for her 
own good, poor thing.” 

“ They say that Thorne broke her heart at last. 
What a life that poor child must have led between 
them ! And now her mother is gone, she is condemn- 
ed to a worse one. I always thought it cruel to cage 
a bird, but it is far more so to seclude from all society 
a young and helpless girl and deny the hopes, fancies 
and affections of her age the food they crave. I only 
wish I had the right to interfere ; I would lose no time 
in doing so.” 

“Nor will I lose any time in acquiring that right,” 
thought the eager listener. “ The sad beauty of that 
pale face haunts me, and I am sure I could love its 
owner passing well.” 

May had found means to make a friend of the girl 
who waited on her and also performed the duties of 
housemaid to the establishment. Nancy Bean was a 
good-natured, thoughtless creature, who resented Mrs. 
Benson’s airs of authority, and took especial delight 
in annoying or assisting to deceive her in any way. A 
liberal present from her young lady had easily induced 

her to convey the letter to the post-office in L and 

consent that the reply should be sent under cover to 
herself. She jumped to the conclusion at once that her 
young lady had a lover, and the romance of assisting 
her to escape with him struck Nancy as the next best 
thing to having an adorer of her own. 

As the weeks rolled by, and no answer came, May 


MAY GETS AN ANSWER. 


2T5 


was overwhelmed with humiliation and began to see 
how imprudent she had been to reply to the advertise- 
ment which had so deeply moved her. She had given 
up all hope of hearing from A. R., when Nancy came 
in from an expedition to L radiant with triumph. 

She held up a yellow envelope and exclaimed : 

“ It’s come at last, Miss May ; but if I was you I’d 
give him a piece of my mind for making me wait so 
long for it.” 

With trembling hands the young girl tore open the 
envelope, and took from it a delicate rose-scented mis- 
sive addressed to herself. The lines traced within 
breathed a poetic fervor, a delicacy of feeling, that 
were entrancing to the fair reader. Sinclair intimated 
his knowledge of her painful position, and declared 
himself most anxious to rescue her from it, with or 
without the consent of her father. He confessed to 
having seen her in church on the previous Sunday, as 
he was unwilling to commit himself without looking 
on the face of the writer of the letter which had so 
deeply interested him. He found her charming, and 
his heart at once bowed in homage before her. That 
he might have no advantage over her, he would enclose 
his photograph in the next letter, if she designed to 
continue the correspondence she had opened. 

With flashing eyes and glowing cheeks the young 
girl read the respectful, yet glowing language of her 
admirer, and confessed to herself that if iie should 
even prove less handsome than the ideal hero of her 
imagination, she could still love the writer of that 
beautiful effusion. Sinclair signed his own name, and 
although May noticed that the initials did not corres- 
pond with those given in the paper, she concluded that 


276 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


he had not chosen to use his own. He gave his num- 
ber and address in Philadelphia, and did not for a 
moment hesitate as to the propriety of carrying on the 
correspondence thus opened. In her ignorance of the 
world and its conventionalities, she did not dream of 
the power she was giving a stranger over her future 
fate. 

Luckily for her, her letters fell into honorable hands, 
and each one only deepened the impression her appear- 
ance and story had made on the heart of her admirer. 
The sweetness and simplicity of her nature were 
gradually unfolded to him in the letters they exchang- 
ed, and Sinclair felt that by chance he had drawn a 
prize in the lottery of life which nothing should in- 
duce him to relinquish. 

His photograph duly came, and the noble beauty of 
his person more than realized May’s dreams of the man 
she could love. 

For nearly two months this romantic correspondence 
was carried on, undetected by Mrs. Benson, and then 
came earnest petitions for a personal meeting. For 
this May had become almost as anxious as her lover ; 
but how it was to be accomplished she could not divine. 
In the singleness and simplicity of her own heart she 
believed Harry Sinclair as worthy of trust as she felt 
herself to be, and she onty desired to see him person- 
ally before pledging herself to fly from her hateful 
home to the protection of his love, if he asked her to 
do so. 

Mrs. Benson still continued to watch over her charge 
with unflagging zeal, and how May was to evade her 
Argus eyes was a difficulty that seemed insurmount- 
able. Nancy was faithful to her interests, but she 


MAY GETS AN ANSWER. 


277 


could suggest nothing better than to be allowed herself 
to administer a sleeping potion in the gin-toddy the 
housekeeper was in the habit of taking after dinner. 
The young lady refused to take this course, as Mrs. 
Benson would be sure to discover that she had been 
drugged ; and as some terrible mischief must be afoot, 
she would warn Mr. Thorne, and lead him to inquire 
into what was going on. 

Sinclair came to L and managed to secure an 

interview with Miss Bean in the woodland below the 
house, without detection from Mrs. Benson, though 
she kept a pretty strict eye on the movements of that 
young damsel. 

On the second morning after her interview with 
Sinclair, Nancy rushed into the young lady’s room in 
a glow of exultation, exclaiming : 

“ I didn’t believe your faith would come to any- 
thing, Miss May ; but it has as sure as you’re livin’. 
Mrs. Benson is took bad, and she thinks she’s agoin’ to 
have roomatis fever — she’s got pains in all her jints, 
and she can’t set her foot to the floor without yellin’like 
the wildcat she is. I never expected to rejoice at any- 
body’s being took like that, but I am now, and I won’t 
deny it. ' She’s sent for Dr. Brandon, but when he 
comes I hope he won’t be able to get her out of her 
bed for a good spell anyhow.” 

“ Hush, Nancy ; you must not talk so, for rheumatic 
fever is a dreadful disease to suffer from ; ' and you 
seem to forget that you will have to nurse Mrs. Benson 
and bear with all her humors.” 

“ So I shall, Miss May, but I shan’t care for that if 
her sickness gives you a chance with Mr. Sinclair. 
Oh ! he’s a beautiful man, and so nice spoken, too. 


278 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


He’s enough handsomer than that black picture he sent 
you, and he has the sweetest smile and the whitest 
teeth. Ah ! it’s }^ou that is the lucky young lady to 
have such a beau, a-coming too to take you out of this 
gloomy old house, and give you a pleasant home of 
your own, where you can do just as you please.” 

“ If I should go with him, Nancy, I shall take you 
with me, and you shall live with me till you find some 
one you like better. How does that please you ? ” 

“ It’s the very thing I meant to ask you to do, Miss 
May ; for after helping you away, I dar’n’t stay here 
to be hauled over the coals by mother Benson, backed 
up by yer pa. Oh lor’ ! what will he do I wonder, 
when he finds out that you’ve given him the slip, and 
found somebody to pertect you from his tantrums ? ” 

May sighed faintly, and said : 

“ I am glad you are satisfied to go with me, Nancy ; 
but I must go now to Mrs. Benson and see what can 
be done for her. I am afraid that I am not as sorry 
for her attack as I should be, but I will at least see 
that she is not neglected.” 

Ma}' left the room and went toward the housekeeper’s 
apartment, closely followed b}^ Nancy. She found 
Mrs. Benson flushed with fever and complaining of 
acute pain in the limbs ; but she seemed less concerned 
about her own sufferings than about the freedom her 
confinement to the house would afford her young 
charge. She peevishly said in reply to May’s expres- 
sions of sympathy : 

“ The pain is bad enough, but I don’t mind that so 
much as I shall you going philanderin’ ’round the 
place with nobody to look after you but that hoity- 
toity piece, Nancy Bean. She wants a gardeen her- 
self, and she aint fit to be trusted with nothin ! ” 


MAY GETS AN ANSWER. 


2T9 


“You’ll find that I can be trusted to nurse you , at 
any rate, Mrs. Benson,” said Nancy, demurely ; “ an’ 
as I’m all you’ve got to trust to, unless you hires a 
nurse, I think you’d better speak to me fair. The 
roomatiz has to be handled mighty gingerly, or them 
that has it ’ll suffer. But you knows all about that, 
caze you says you’ve had it once afore.” 

Mrs. Benson snapped her small black eyes at her, 
but deigned no reply. She turned again to May, and 
said : 

“ It’s too warm to take them long tramps o’ yourn, 
Miss May, and while I’m laid up, I hopes you’ll not 
think of going far from the house. You can walk on 
the pearazza, and it’ll be a great comfort to me to hear 
you allymodin up and down there, in place of goin’ 
out in the woodland.” 

“ Excuse me, Mrs. Benson, I cannot give up my 
daily walks — I should lose my health if I did ; and, as 
no other recreation is allowed me, I must enjoy that. 
I shall see that everything is done for you that is pos- 
sible, but with Nancy for my companion, I can roam 
through the grounds as freely as I have been in the 
habit of doing. I think you had better send for a 
competent person to take care of you, and I will 
cheerfully pay her for doing so myself.” 

“ You’re very good, Miss May, but Nancy aint to be 
trusted, and the master promised me a congy if I kept 
you all safe till he came back. I don’t know what it 
was he meant to give me, but I know it was something 
handsome, for he don’t do things shabby.” 

A silvery laugh rippled from the lips of May, and 
she said : 

“ I have observed that papa often takes pleasure in 


280 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


puzzling you, by using French words, Mrs. Benson. 
You have misunderstood him, for conge means dimissal, 
and I scarcely think he would send away so faithful a 
spy as you have been.” 

Mrs. Benson half raised herself, but fell back with 
a sharp cry. She angrily said : 

“ You don’t mean to say that Mr. Thorne bamboozled 
me in that way with his furrin lingo ? After that, I 
don’t care if you do go rampagin ’round with nobody 
but that slammakin gal for company. I’ve half killed 
myself a trapesin arter you, an’ its little enough thanks 
I’ll git for it at last.” 

“ Mrs. Benson, I am not aware that my father gave 
you the authority to speak rudely to me,” said May, 
with as much dignity as one so young could assume. 
“ I prefer Nancy’s companionship to yours at any rate, 
for she is not in my father’s pay. She is fathful to me, 
if you are to him— and I shall take my daily walks as 
usual ; I do not apprehend any danger on my path.” 

“I’m a old fool to be vexin’ of you, child,” said the 
housekeeper, in a changed tone. “ I didn’t mean to 
be oncivil, but there’s wolves in sheep’s clothing in 
this lower spear, an’ you might fall in the hands of one 
on ’em unbeknownst. That’s why I’m so sot agin yer 
chassyin ’roun’ wi’ Nancy Bean. She’s sich a light- 
headed critter that there aint no dependence to be 
placed in her.” 

“ What is that you are saying, Mrs. Benson ? ” asked 
a cheery voice from the open door-way. “ Are you 
trying to persuade May from taking her daily con- 
stitutional? That will never do, my good madame, 
for she looks as delicate as a snow-drop now, and with- 
out regular exercise, I should have her on my hands 


MAY GETS AN ANSWER. 


281 


too. How do you do, my dear ? ” — turning to May, 
and taking the hand she offered — “ I thought I should 
never get to see you again, for when I have called, you 
were always denied to me.” 

“ It warnt my fault, Doctor,” said the sick woman, 
deprecatingly. “ I had my orders, an’ I was bound 
to ’bey ’em. Miss May aint one o’ the obstroperlous 
kind, I’ll say that much for her, and she aint giv me 
much trouble till now. But ef she resists in takin’ of 
them walks without me, suthin ’ll go wrong — I feel it 
in every ache of my bones.” 

“You absurd old woman, what harm can come to 
May from walking in her father’s grounds in company 
with a well-behaved girl like Nancy here ? You were 
slandering her when I came in, Mrs. Benson, for I 
know that she is trustworthy — her mother has been my 
cook for two years past, and if you will remember, it 
was I that recommended Nancy to j^ou as a suitable 
person to be about your young lady.” 

“ So you did ; but she’s a dreffle scatter-brain, an’ I 
believe she’d be up to any mischief that would spite 
me.” 

“ Pooh ! nonsense ! the girl is full of life, and 
thoughtless as those of her age are apt to be, but 
there’s no malice in her. I know a steady woman I 
shall send up here to take care of you, for I’m afraid 
you’ll have as sharp a bout of it this time as you did 
before, when you had inflammatory rheumatism. It’s 
not a pleasant prospect I know, but I suspected how it 
would end when I heard that }^ou were overheating 
yourself every day, trying to keep up with young feet 
in their rambles. It serves you right, my good woman, 
for treating this poor child as you have done.” 


282 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Mrs. Benson piously said : 

“ The Lord’s will be done. I can’t help myself, an’ 
the woman must come, I s’pose, ’specially as Miss May 
means to pay her wages. As to what I done to worrit 
her, Doctor, I only tended to the duty set afore me. 
I’m Mr. Thorne’s manager here, and bound to do what 
he tells me. ’Taint been no pleasure to me, I can take 
my affidavy, for I’ve tramped around through them 
woods till my feet is worn out, and my health too. I 
give up now, ef you say Miss May must go gallivantin 
roun’ without me, she’ll do it, an’ I shall lose my 
place. Send me suffin to keep me quiet an’ depose my 
narves.” 

“ Oh, I shall do that, you may be sure ; but you 
need have no fear of being deposed — you suit your 
employer too well for that. Come, May, we will leave 
Nancy to take care of Mrs. Benson, and I will have a 
talk with you.” 

Dr. Brandon was one of the few persons that May 
knew well and thoroughly liked. He had been the 
family physician from the date of her father’s marriage, 
and during the last few months of her mother’s life he 
had been almost a daily visitor at Thornhill. The 
young girl did not feel shy with him as with others, 
and she willingly followed him as he led the way to 
the front entrance. He said : 

“ Come out with me on the terrace, May ; the sun- 
shine will do you good. You really look like a hot- 
house flower, but I am not surprised at that, for the 
last few months of your life must have been a sore 
trial to you.” 

Touched by his tone of sympathy, May tremulously 
said : 


MAY GETS AN ANSWER. 


283 


“ Oh, Doctor, it has been as much as I could bear ; 
if this state of affairs continues much longer I sTiall go 
wild. Since poor mamma died, I have had no one to 
speak to but servants. Nancy is very good, but she is 
no companion for me, and Mrs. Benson is almost unen- 
durable.” 

He regarded her a few moments compassionately, 
and then abruptly asked : 

“Have you heard nothing from your father? Does 
he never write to you ? ” 

“ No ; he sends brief notes to Mrs. Benson, but I 
never see them. She only tells me that he is well, 
and does not speak of returning home. Do you know 
where he is, Doetor ? ” 

“At the last accounts he was at Cape May, trying to 
win a successor to his late wife. Don’t look so 
shocked, child ; it is six months since your father be- 
came a widower, and you could not expect him to 
respect the memory of the woman he treated as he did 
your mother. If this Madam L’Epine will accept him, 
he will bring a step-dame here to rule over you.” 

May wept softly a few moments, but she presently 
wiped her tears away, and proudly said : 

“ I should have expected nothing else ; but it hurts 
me deeply to know that all memory of mamma has 
been so soon set aside. Do you know anything of this 
lady, Dr. Brandon ? ” 

“ I have been told that she is surpassingly beautiful, 
fascinating, witty and rich. She has produced quite a 
sensation at the Cape, and numbers adorers by scores, 
but your father has distanced them all. I am scarcely 
surprised at that, for he is still one of the handsomest 
men I know, and when he chooses he can be one of 
the most courtly and agreeable.” 


284 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ From the name, I suppose Madame L’Epine is a 
foreigner.” 

“ She has lived in France many years, but it is said 
that she is an American by birth. I have told you 
this to prepare you for what your father will doubtless 
soon communicate himself ; from what I have been told 
on good authority, I think that this lady will soon 
come hither to rule over Thornhill, and over you. I 
hope you may get along well together, but if you 
should not, May, remember that in me you have a 
friend who will stand by you. If the new Mrs. 
Thorne takes sides with your father against you, 
your life here may become intolerable. In that case, 
do not be afraid to appeal to me. I will do my best to 
aid you.” 

“ Thank you, Doctor ; but unless my father is 
kinder to the new wife than he was to my mother, she 
will be glad herself to make a friend, even of one as 
insignificant as I am.” 

“ My dear, in this choice your father will follow the 
dictates of his own heart, and if Walter Thorne, with 
his temperament, and at his age, is as passionately 
devoted to this lady as rumor says, he may give her 
the power to break his heart, but he will hardly try to 
wound hers by harshness or neglect. You know noth- 
ing of his past history, May, or you would have some 
sympathy for him, in spite of his harshness to yourself. 
His marriage with your mother was a terrible mistake 
on both sides. Your grandfather was greatly to blame 
for the part he played — he forced his son to give up 
the girl on whom his heart was set, and made his 
union with your mother the condition of inheriting 
anything from him.” 


MAY GETS AN ANSWER. 285 

“ But mamma surely did not know that he preferred 
another before herself,” said May, breathlessly. 

“ I cannot tell how much or how little she knew. 
She was in Philadelphia when the scandal took place, 
for there was one, though I am not going to give you 
any of the details. She and your father were married 
by the dying bed of Mr. Willard, but something oc- 
curred to estrange them almost immediately. Poor 
Agnes found out the whole story of his devotion to 
that other one, and that laid the foundation of all the 
after wretchedness. His temper was embittered, and 
under his coldness and harshness, all the love she had 
felt for him gradually died out. I pitied them both — 
I think that Thorne had, and still has, much good in 
him, and a tender and loving influence may bring it to 
the surface again.” 

“ I am glad to hear you say that, Doctor, and if this 
lady will restore my father’s better nature, I shall love 
and bless her. The story you have told me is painful, 
but I am glad that I have heard it ; it explains and 
excuses many things that have been to me a source of 
unmitigated bitterness.” 

“ Then I am not sorry that I have told it, though I 
cannot tell what prompted me to do so. Your father 
would certainly not thank me if he knew that I had 
referred to his past history in any way in your pres- 
ence.” 

1 he Doctor bade her a cheerful farewell, and with a 
thoughtful brow May went into the house again, and 
sought her own room to write a note to her lover, 
informing him that the long-delayed interview could 
take place that afternoon in the woodland in which 
she usually walked. A few hours later, Mrs. Gandy 


286 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


came from L to assume the duties of nurse to the 

irascible patient, and Nancy was free to take the note 
to the place at which Sinclair had appointed to meet 
her, in the faint hope that something might occur to 
enable May to accompany her. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE LOVERS. 

T HE grounds around Thornhill were extensive, and 
possessed of much picturesque beauty. Undula- 
ting hills and mossy hollows were shaded by forest 
trees, many of which had braved the storms of a cen- 
tury, and a narrow rippling stream sent its silvery cur- 
rent through a most romantic glen about half a mile 
from the house. 

This was May’s favorite place of resort, and a few 
rods from the margin of the stream a shelter had been 
built over a seat large enough to accommodate several 
persons. Wild roses and jessamine were trained over 
the latticed sides, and it was now a complete nest of 
verdure, though the flowers had long since shed their 
petals and passed away. In this spot May appointed 
the meeting with her unknown lover, and toward the 
close of the afternoon, with many misgivings, and 
much palpitation of her poor little heart, she prepared 
herself for the interview. Nancy was to go with her 
as far- as the edge of the woodland, and discreetly keep 
near enough to her young lady to act as a sort of 
guardian, without intruding on the privacy of the in- 
terview. 


THE LOVERS. 


28 T 


As May drew near the glen, she saw that the rustic 
seat was occupied, and her heart gave a great bound 
as the tall form of Sinclair arose and rapidly advanced 
to meet her. She was almost breathless, and pale 
from agitation. Understanding her emotion, he re- 
pressed his own ardor, and gently taking her hand, 
drew it under his arm and said : 

“ At last we meet face to face, Miss Thorne — or may 
I call you May ? I have addressed you in writing by 
that name so often, that it comes most familiar to my 
lips.” 

Recovering herself a little, she impulsively said : 

“It is your right to do so, Mr. Sinclair, after all 
that has passed between us. Oh ! I fear that you will 
think me unmaidenly to have opened a correspondence 
with a stranger in the way I did with you ; but my 
position excuses it, if ever such imprudence was ex- 
cusable.” 

“ It does in my eyes, and would do so in those of 
every candid person. I bless the hour in which that 
letter was written, dearest May, for it led me to the 
happiness of my life. But for that, I might never 
have known you, never have loved you as the sweet 
revelations of your lovely nature in our subsequent 
correspondence has taught me to love. How I have 
yearned for this meeting — how anxiously I have 
watched to obtain a glimpse of you for the last few 
days, I cannot tell you. Nancy told me that your 
duenna was sick in bed ; and before she is able to set 
herself upon the watch again, I hope that we shall have 
arranged affairs on such a basis that her espionage will 
be of no importance.” 

By this time they had gained the seat, and after a 


288 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


few more words were exchanged, May gained courage 
to look up at the earnest face of her lover. Its candid, 
clear expression attracted her more than its beauty, 
handsome as Sinclair certainly was. He was looking 
down on her with infinite protecting tenderness ; and 
the lonely girl felt, as their eyes met, and held their 
mutual gaze spell-bound for a few moments, that the 
man beside her was worthy of the trust she had repos- 
ed in him. She frankly placed her hand in his, and 
said : 

“Now that I have seen you, I ratify with my lips all 
that my pen has said. I am not afraid to place my life 
in your keeping, as you have urged me to do.” 

“ Then I seal the contract thus,” and he gathered 
her slight form to his breast, and kissed her on the 
brow, and lips ; then releasing her, but still holding 
the slender hand she had given him, Sinclair expressed 
his rapturous thanks in a voice that thrilled every pulse 
of the sensitive heart which vowed in that hour to 
remain true to the troth she had plighted, through 
every danger, every trial, the future might bring. 

Almost without any volition of her own, May found 
herself talking to this comparative stranger as freely 
and unreservedly as if they had been reared together. 
The magnetism of his presence seemed to draw her 
nearer and nearer to him, and unlock the inner sanc- 
tuary of her heart, that all its fancies and feelings might 
be laid bare to his inspection. 

Afterward, when May recalled that first interchange 
of thought and sentiment, she wondered how she could 
have spoken so unreservedly to him, and she blushed as 
she remembered many things she had said, though she 
did not repent the freedom with which she had ex- 
pressed herself. 


THE LOVERS. 


289 


Even in this first interview, she felt that this man 
was the master of her fate ; but she had no fear that 
his gentle and noble nature would abuse the trust she 
reposed in him. 

After an animated conversation of some length, Sin- 
clair suddenly said : 

“Now that we know and understand each other, 
May, I have a confession to make which I do not think 
I can honestly withhold. I wish you to understand 
my position toward you, as well as I do yours to me.” 

“ I am ready to listen to it, and give you absolution,” 
was the smiling reply. 

“ Did you observe the discrepancy between the ini- 
tials given in the advertisement to which you replied, 
and those of my own name ? ” 

“ I did, but I supposed you preferred using false 
ones.” 

“ The simple truth is, I did not use any. I am the 
last man in the world to do such a thing as advertise 
for a wife. If I could not have found one without 
doing such a thing as that, I should have gone to my 
grave un wedded.” 

“ Then how did you come by my letter ? and what 
must you think of me for having written it ? ” 

“ What I think of you has little to do with the let- 
ter. I love you, and I respect you, in spite of the im- 
prudence which might have led to something very dis- 
astrous to yourself, had the man who wrote that adver- 
tisement been in earnest. You are too young, and 
ignorant of life to be blamed for the course you took, 
in the hope that you might release yourself from the 
painful position in which you are placed.” 

18 


290 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


May covered her face with her hands, and burst in 
tears. 

After a slight pause, Sinclair gently went on : 

“ I bless the hour, May, in which you were impelled 
to write that little missive : for, strangely as it came 
into my* hands, I was struck by the refinement and 
grace with which you responded to A. R. I will ex- 
plain to you who he is, and how I appropriated what 
belonged of right to him. Ransom is a connection of 
my own — a thoughtless, but not at heart a bad fellow. 
He is in no want of a wife, and the advertisement sent 
by him was the result of a bet he had made with one 
of his fellow-students, that he would get at least fifty 
replies to such a thing. He won the bet, for he received 
at least seventy ; but, among them all, was but one to 
which the writer had appended her true name — that 
one was yours. I happened to go to Ransom’s room 
immediately after it was received. I thought the sig- 
nature an assumed one, but he knew something of you, 
and he assured me it was genuine. 

“ I tried to induce him to burn the whole lot, but he 
would not consent. He permitted me, however, to 
rescue yours from the fate of the others, and take it 
away with me.” 

“ And what was the fate of the rest ? ” 

“ I will tell you, that you may see what you have 
escaped. They were exhibited to Albert’s particular 
chums, read over with shouts of laughter, and such 
comments made upon them as would have made the 
cheeks of their writers tingle with indignation if they 
could have heard them. A matrimonial advertisement 
is always intended as a hoax, or a snare, as you would 
have known if you had had more experience, and it is 


THE LOVERS. 291 

never safe to reply to one, however great the tempta- 
tion.’’ 

u But the wretch said he was lonely, and I — sympa- 
thized with him so deeply that — that I did this foolish 
thing. I see now how wrong it was, and I don’t know 
how you came to love one so easily imposed on.” 

“ I saw that you were honest in what you had writ- 
ten, and that interested me. I came to L to attend 

court, and I learned much of you which deepened that 
interest. I saw you in church, and I fell in love with 
you, with 1 malice prepense’ I suppose, for I went there 
prepared to do so. I determined to rescue you from 
the bondage in which you are held by that vulgar old 
woman, if you would permit me to do so.” 

“ Oh ! Harry, all this is very humiliating ! The only 
consolation I have is, that we might never have known 
each other if I had not done so thoughtless a thing. 
As to Mr. Ransom, I only hope that you will never 
introduce him to me when ” 

She stopped suddenly, and a bright flush came to 
her cheek. 

Sinclair took up the unfinished sentence, and, with 
smiling gravity, completed it. 

“ When we are married, as I hope we shall be by the 
time Mrs. Benson is able to walk around again. In our 
home Ransom will not intrude, I assure you. I had a 
sort of charge over him while he was a student ; but 
he has abandoned the profession and gone back to his 
father’s farm, to labor at a calling that he is better fitted 
for than that of the law. My aunt is his stepmother, 
but that does not give him any claim on me ; and he is 
not a man I should choose as a companion.” 

U I am glad of that, for I could never bear to see 

him.” 


292 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Then you will not refuse to go with me to freedom 
and happiness ? Treated as you have been by your 
father, I scarcely think he has any right to object to 
the course I urge you to take, though I am convinced 
he would do so if he were made aware of my preten- 
sions. Under other circumstances, I should think it 
base to steal a man’s daughter from him ; but yours is 
a peculiar case, and, to you, a clandestine marriage is 
the only road to freedom from neglect and oppression.” 

“ I fear it is — but I cannot consent just yet to go 
with you. Let us defer any positive arrangement till 
Mrs. Benson is convalescing. She has rheumatism, 
and will not be able to walk about with me again for 
months to come. We can meet here daily as long as 

you remain in L ; and I think we had better know 

each other well before we take so irrevocable a step as 
the one you propose.” 

“ But the housekeeper may suspect something, and 
write to Mr. Thorne. I cannot bear the thought that 
he may come hither to pour the volume of his wrath 
on you when I may be away. Dearest May, consent 
to give me your hand as unreservedly as I believe you 
have given me your heart, for it will be best for us 
both.” 

May obstinately shook her head. 

“ If I was silly enough to write that reply to Mr. 
Ransom’s falsehood, I will not be so undignified as to 
consent to elope with you in our first interview. 
There is no danger that papa will come hither, for he 
is in love himself with a dashing widow he met at Cape 
May ; and from what Dr. Brandon said to-day, I 
scarcely think he will come home even to look after 
me till he brings his new wife with him.” 


THE LOVERS. 


293 


“ Threatened with a step-dame, too ! You cannot 
hesitate as to going with me after that. But I will not 
urge you to-day for a definite answer. My arrange- 
ments for our union are not yet completed ; but I shall 
go steadily forward with them in the certainty that 
you will consent to leave your prison and fly with me 
to the home I am preparing for you. It is a cozy little 
nest, May : the only heritage left me by my parents is 
a small cottage in the suburbs of Philadelphia. It has 
a few acres of ground around it, which are embellished 
in the English style, for my father was a native of that 
country. The house is tasteful and perfectly comfort- 
able, but it has no pretensions to splendor. Until very 
lately, it was occupied by careful tenants, who kept 
the grounds in good order ; and to my partial eye, the 
place is a gem of beauty. It was the home of my 
childhood ; and there my parents lived in perfect anion 
till I had attained my fifteenth year. My mother then 
died of some chronic disorder from which she had long 
suffered, and my father did not long survive her. 
With strict economy the rent of the place sufficed to 
support and educate me ; and now I can look forward 
with certainty to a successful, if not a brilliant career. 
The friend with whom I studied my profession is a 
lawyer of distinction : he received me into partnership 
as soon as I graduated ; and for the last three years I 
have attended to the greater part of the business of 
the firm. I have a fair share of the profits, and I feel 
quite able to maintain my house in good style, though 
I cannot yet afford the luxurious manner of living to 
which you have been reared. All in good time, 
though ; for, if health is spared to me, I will give you 
all, and more than you will ask.” 


294 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I do not doubt the last assurance ; but if you knew 
the sick loathing with which I have looked around the 
splendid home which has, for months, been as a solitary 
desert to me, you would understand that to me, the 
dinner of herbs, where love is, will be far preferable 
to all its grandeur. Such as your home is, I will share 
it with you, and do mj- best to make it happy. I shall 
not come to you a dowerless bride, either, Harry, for 
I have a few thousand dollars that descended to me 
from my mother, and when I marry you, of course my 
little fortune will be yours.” 

“ Excuse me, May ; I shall never touch a penny of 
yours with the intention of appropriating it. I have 
always been of the opinion that a woman’s fortune 
should be secured to herself, for she is less able to win 
a support than a man is : and in case of failure, or ac- 
cident to the husband, it is manifestly unjust that 
what belongs to the wife should be taken from her. I 
do not apprehend any such catastrophe to myself, but 
I shall nevertheless take every precaution to settle 
your money in such a manner that it will still be under 
your control.” 

“You are very generous ; but if I can trust you 
with myself, I can surely trust you with my fortune.” 

“ True — and I prove myself worthy of your confi- 
dence by doing what I think is right. I must be al- 
lowed to have my own way in this, May ; for your 
father shall never class me among the fortune-hunters 
he is so much afraid of on your account.” 

“ How did ypu know that ? ” 

“ Mr. Thorne has taken pains to proclaim that you 
are not to inherit his wealth, as a warning to those who 
might be in pursuit of an heiress ; he has furthermore 


THE LOVERS. 


295 


said that when you marry he will not permit your for- 
tune to pass into the hands of your husband. As to 
myself, I feel my own ability to win both position and 
independence, and I have that manly pride which in- 
duces me to prefer providing for my wife, in preference 
to being indebted to her means for my future advance- 
ment. Thus far I have been successful in my career 
beyond my most sanguine hopes, and I am justified in 
looking forward to something more substantial than I 
have already gained.” 

“ But, Harry, it will make me so happy to be able 
to help you on in any way.” 

“ As you will, my sweet love, by making for me the 
happy home I have looked forward to as the reward of 
my toils.” 

May finally consented to this, at the same time pleas- 
ing herself with the thought that her annual income 
would almost suffice to support the modest home of 
which she had consented to become the mistress, and 
she could thus aid her husband in his upward struggle, 
if in no other. 

As the shadows of evening began to gather, Sinclair 

said : “ I shall remain in L four days longer, and 

every afternoon I shall come to this place, hoping to 
be joined by you, with the fair Nancy as your guardian 
angel. I see her now making energetic signals, which 
I suppose are intended as a significant hint to me to be 
oft.” 

May arose and laughingly said : 

“ Time has long lagged heavily enough with me, 
but this evening it seems to have taken wings to itself. 
I must leave you now, but at the same hour I came to- 
day, I shall be in the glen to-morrow. Good-bye. 


296 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Yes — to meet again. But for that promise I should 
scarcely be willing to let you go. You remove from 
me the sweet influence of your presence, but you leave 
with me so dear a hope that I can be happy in dream- 
ing of it, and planning the fair future to be shared 
with you. My home will soon be ready to claim its 
queen, and then I shall ask for the last proof of your 
confidence in me.” 

After a moment of hesitation, May said : 

“ Papa has not treated me kindly, but I shrink from 
leaving his house clandestinely, unless I am compelled 
to adopt such a course. Had you not better write to 
him, Harry, and state what you have told me? He 
cannot be so unreasonable as to object to you for a son- 
in-law, and he will not care to have a grown-up daugh- 
ter in his house now that he is about to bring a new 
wife home.” 

“ I will write to Mr. Thorne on one condition, and 
that is, that if he refuses his consent to our union, you 
will not hesitate to leave his protection for mine. I 
have little hope of a favorable result from such an 
application ; but, to satisfy your sense of duty, I will 
make it. Your father will expect you to marry a man 
already rich ; and I know, beforehand, that he will re- 
fuse you to me, who must become the architect of ray 
own fortune.” 

“If he does, I will go with you, in spite of every 
effort to withhold me from you. That is my pledge, 
and here is my hand upon it.” 

Sinclair pressed the fair hand to his heart, and draw- 
ing her to his breast, he sealed the promise with more 
than one kiss upon the lips that uttered it. 

May extricated herself from his arms, blushing and 
trembling, and hurriedly said : 


THE LOVERS. 


297 


“ I must go : Nancy is making such violent demon- 
strations that some one must be coming this way. You 
had better screen yourself from observation behind the 
bower, for I should not like our meeting to become 
known to Mrs. Benson. She may have sent some one 
to spy upon me.” 

“ It is undignified to retreat,” he laughingly said ; 
44 but as ‘ discretion is the better part of valor,’ I obey 
my commanding general. To-morrow afternoon at 
five, remember, I shall await you here.” 

Sinclair had scarcely disappeared behind the screen 
of leaves, when a boy, whose business it was to look 
after the animals kept upon the place, appeared in the 
distance, apparently plodding along on his usual even- 
ing errand. 

May moved carelessly from the spot on which she 
had parted from her lover, and joined Nancy. The 
girl eagerly said : 

44 Barney has been sent here to spy on us, Miss May. 
The pasture is on the other side of the place, and he 
ain’t never been here afore as I knows on. Old 
Roomatics has sent him, sure, to see what we was up 
to. I’ve been makin’ signs ever so long, but you 
didn’t seem to mind ’em, an’ I didn’t expect nothing 
but that the little bogtrotter would come in sight of 
you afore Mr. Sinclair got out o’ the way.” 

44 All’s well that ends well,” said May, with a smile. 
44 Harry can get out of Barney’s path in time to avoid 
being seen. I shall speak to the lad, and ask him 
what brought him here.” 

44 An’ get some sharp fib in answer. Them Irish is 
too cute to be caught in a trap easily. Ef he was sent 
he ain’t going to let you know about it.” 


298 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Barney, a shrewd-looking, half-grown lad, with a 
shock of red hair and a pair of wandering greenish- 
gray e} T es, came whistling on his way as if uncon- 
scious of the presence of any one in his vicinity. As 
his eyes fell upon his young mistress he started very 
naturally, pulled off his broken straw hat, and bobbed 
his head before her as respectfully as he knew how. 
May paused and asked : 

“ What brings you into the glen, Barney ? You 
know that on this side of the grounds you have no 
business. 

“Be gorra, Miss, and that same’s thrue enough, 
barrin the pig,” replied the lad, with a strong Irish 
accent. “ Me pet pig, Miss May, as Misthress Benson 
giv me for me own has got out of the pen I put him 
in, and I’ve hunted the crayther over the place widout 
cornin’ up wid him. Ye ain’t seen nothing of him now, 
has yees ? ” 

“ It’s like your impedence,” broke in Nancy, “ to 
ask your betters if they’ve seen the brute you’re rela- 
ted to. Go where the corn is planted, if the pig is 
really out. You know well enough he ain’t down in 
this hollow, an’ that wasn’t what brought you here, 
Barney O’Shaughnessy.” 

“ I’m clane bate then, Miss Nancy, ef he ain’t down 
there. The poor feller ain’t related to me now, but 
when I ate him as I mane to do some o’ these days, 
he’ll be a blood relation then, shure enough.” 

“ Ugh ! you wretch ! — stand out o’ the path, and let 
Miss May pass on. I wouldn’t be such a cannibal as 
to eat my own brother, if I was you.” 

The boy stepped out of the path respectfully ; but 
when the young lady had passed, he significantly said 
to Nancy : 


THE LOVERS. 


299 


“ I owe you one for that, Miss Bane, and shure I 
allers pays my debts. I’ll find the crayther I’m after, 
afore I’m done yit.” 

Nancy waved her hand menacingly toward him, and 
said : 

“ If you hunt for him in this part o’ the woods agin, 
it won’t be good for you — that’s all I have to say to 
you, Barney Carrots.” 

The lad shook his hair, as she uttered this oppro- 
brius epithet, and grinning broadly, said : 

“ It’s goold, red goold, Miss Bane, an’ me hair is me 
pride — it crowns me with the color o’ the risin’ sun ; an’ 
it’s only envy in you to be callin’ it carrots, — wishin’ 
ye bether manners, I bid ye good evenin’, Miss.” 

Nancy hurried after her young lady, and breathlessly 
said: 

“ That boy ain’t no more looking arter a pig than I 
am. He’s been sent by old fast-and-tight, I know well 
enough, an’ ef he finds out that a man has been in the 
grounds a-talkin’ with you, your ’pa will hear of it 
afore the week’s out. My ! won’t there be old hot to 
pay then ! ” 

“ Barney will not find any one to report on,” said 
May, calmly. “ And if Mrs. Benson should write to 
my father, it does not signify. Mr. Sinclair will do 
the same, and ask his consent to our marriage. I am 
unwilling to leave my home without, at least, giving 
him the opportunity to do what is right by me.” 

Miss Bean regarded her wildly, and after a breath- 
less pause, solemnly asked : 

“ Are you really going to spile all your prospects, 
Miss May, by tellin’ of yer ’pa what’s a-goin’ on here ? 
I thought you had more gumption than to put yourself 


300 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


in his power agin. He ain’t writ you a line since he 
went away, an’ ef I was yon, I’d make sure o’ gettin’ 
away afore he can come here in one o’ his orfle tan- 
trums. Anyways, I may pack up and git ready to 
move, for he’ll send me out’n the house quicker’n 
lightnin’ when he knows that I helped yer to git yer 
letters sent, and went with you to meet yer lovyer.” 

“ I can’t help it, Nancy, if he does ; but I’ll tell you 
what you shall do if papa sends you away. Harry is 
getting his house ready for us to live in, and you shall 
go to Philadelphia and take charge of it till I come. I 
will give you money to take you there, and to get you 
something nice besides. How do you like that plan ? ” 

Miss Bean became radiant. 

“ I like it best of anything, Miss May ; and I’ll be 
the most economical housekeeper as is to be found. 
My ! but you an’ him has got ’long fast, considerin’ 
that this arternoon is the fust time you ever sot eyes 
on each other.” 

May blushed vividly, but she laughed, as she re- 
plied : 

“ Harry has seen me in church ; and I had his pic- 
ture, you know. We have written to each other twice 
every week for the last six weeks, and that has made 
us very well known to each other. He meant to mar- 
ry me from the first, so he set about getting his home 
ready for my reception.” 

“ But supposin’ yer ’pa won’t let you go, nohow ? ” 

“It is due to papa to ask his consent to our mar- 
riage, but, if he refuses it, I shall find means to escape, 
even if Mrs. Benson is set on the watch again. ‘ When 
there’s a will, there’s a way,’ you know.” 

“Yer will may be strong enough, Miss May ; but if 


THE LOVERS. 


801 


you ever find a way to git out’n your ’pa’s clutches, ef 
he shets ’em on you an’ says you’re to stay where you 
belongs, I’m mightily mistaken. Ef you vallies my 
advice, I’d say git clear off afore he knows what’s 
a-goin’ on.” 

“ I can’t do that, Nancy. I must satisfy my own 
conscience, let what will happen. You need have no 
fear as to the result. Harry is not a man to be 
thwarted, and he will find the means of rescuing me, 
even if I cannot soften papa and win him over to con- 
sent to my happiness.” 

Nancy struck her shoe against a rock that lay on 
one side of the path, and ruefully said : 

“ When that solid stone melts with pourin’ water on 
it, you may soften yer ’pa, but not afore. But it’s no 
use to talk — I see you’ve made up yer mind to make 
yerself mizzable, an what’s more, to make that fine- 
spoken young man tear his hair an’ ’wail his lot in the 
sollertude o’ that house he’s a fixin’ up for nothin’.” 

“ I hope he won’t do anything so absurd as that. 
In place of spoiling his beautiful hair, Harry will set 
his brain to work to find some plan to rescue me from 
the captivity you seem to think inevitable.” 

By this time they had reached the house, and May 
went to Mrs. Benson’s apartment to inquire into her 
condition. The invalid snapped her eyes viciously as 
she said : 

“ So you’ve got back safe : I hardly ever expected 
to see you agin arter you tramped out with nobody 
along but that Nancy. Ef Dr. Brandon does b’lieve 
in her, I don’t, for I know she’ll put you up to all sorts 
o’ mischief. You aint nat’rally outbreaking Miss May, 
but that owdacious piece will give you the wust advice 
— but you hadn’t oughter take it, I can tell you.” 


302 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I am not likely to apply to my servant for advice, 
Mrs. Benson, nor do I choose to be taken to task in 
this way by you. I came to see if you are any better, 
not to listen to your scolding.’ ’ 

“Better! no I aint better, I’m wuss — I’m one solid 
ache, an’ it’s all from trampin’ roun’ wi’ you, an’ gettin’ 
myself dead beat wi’ the walkin’ you did jest to agger- 
vate me. I aint takin’ yer to task fur it, but you see 
what you’s brought me to with your allymodin’ up an’ 
down as you has done sence I was sot to look arter 
you. I shall tell your father I’m down in the bed for 
a long spell, an’ he must find somebody what’s go.t 
more stiddiness than Nancy Bean, to go out with you.” 

“ You can write as soon as you please — I have no 
objection. Good evening, Mrs. Benson. Hereafter I 
shall send some one to inquire into your condition, and 
report to me, for I do not choose to be spoken to in 
this rude manner.” 

May left the room, and the housekeeper ruefully 
muttered : “ Things aint right, or she wouldn’t be so 

undepending all to onct. She’s found somebody to 
make frien’s wi’ — I’m as sure of that as can be. I 
wonder if it’s that old doctor, now. Ef it is, who 
knows how long he’ll keep me a-groanin’ on this bed ? 
Oh lor ! there, that pain comes agin. Miss Gander, if 
yer name didn’t suit you to a notch, you’d find suffin to 
do for me that would give me some depose.” 

“ My name aint Gander any more’n your’n is goose,” 
retorted the offended nurse; “an’ ef you will get to 
rampin’ ’round an’ set yourself to achin’ all over, how 
can I help it ? I folly’s the doctor’s directions, an’ 
that’s all I qualified to do when I come here to nuss 
you. Ef you gin me any more such sass, I’ll jest 
walk off an’ leave you to be took care of by Nancy.” 


THE LOVERS. 


308 


“ Oh Lor, it has come to a pretty pass when a 
common hired nuss talks to me in this unspec’ful way. 
I has been used to desociate wi’ yer betters, Miss 
Gandy, an’ I aint inspectin’ to be talked to like 
common folks by the people I pays to wait on me.” 

41 Ef I am a hired nuss, you’s a hired housekeeper, 
and I don’t see a mite o’ difference atween us. As to 
your payin’, I never ’spected to git nothin’ from sich a 
ole stingy as everybody knows you is. Dr. Brandon 
told me that Miss Thorne would pay me to take care 
on you ; an’ ef ’twasn’t for the respect I has for her y 
I’d go away this minnit, and leave sich a onmannerly 
thing as you is to do the best you could without me.” 

44 Do you dare call me a thing ! you ! you ! ” screamed 
the housekeeper. But the further outpouring of her 
wrath was suspended by a violent attack of pain, 
which fairly took all power of further vituperation 
from her. The nurse who was really a kind-hearted 
woman, did all that her skill suggested to relieve the 
sufferings of her patient ; and, for a time, a truce was 
established between the two. 

Mrs. Benson was sinking to repose under the influ- 
ence of a powerful narcotic, when a faint tap came to 
the door, and she roused herself to bid the applicant 
for admission to enter. Mrs. Gandy had gone to her 
supper, and she knew who had taken advantage of her 
absence to report to her the result of the errand on 
which he had been sent. 

Barney came in, respectfully holding his battered 
straw hat in his hand, and made a low reverence as he 
approached the bed. 

44 Please mum,” he said, 44 1 went after the young 
mistress as yees tould me, an’ faix I don’t belave she 


304 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


was glad to see me at all, at all. She tould me, I 
hadn’t no call to be that side o’ the place, an’ I’m not 
to go to the glin agin.” 

“ Is that all you’ve got to tell me, you stupid gos- 
soon ? What did I send you after her for ? Can’t you 
come to the pint at onct ? ” 

“ Well, mum, I didn’t say nobody a talkin’ to her, 
but Nancy was on guard, an’ she wint on at me like 
bleezes, coz I corned on ’em, an’ I thought to-morrow 
arternoon I’d hide ahind that sate wi’ the vines an’ 
things fornenst me, an’ find out what they’re up to. 
But you’ll be sure to give me the goold eagle you 
promised me, Miss Benson ? ” 

“ I’ll give it when its aimed, Barney, lad. You jest 
foller ’em up, an’ let me know what’s a goin’ on, an’ 
you shill have the money. But it was only a half 
eagle, remember. Watch yer chances, an come in here 
when that Gander is out in the room. She musn’t 
know what you’re up to on no ’count.” 

“ Yis’m — I knows — an’ I shall do my best to plaze 
ye. I’d best be goin’ now, for I hears somebody a 
cornin’.” 

“ Yes — go out this other door, an’ down the back 
stairs, an’ when you comes agin, come that way.” 

Barney crept away, and Mrs. Benson muttered : 

“ I knowed it — there’s somebody gallivatin’ ’round 
here, a lookin’ arter that onprudent young gal. Ef her 
pa would only have sense enough to ax me to marry 
him now, wouldn’t I hold her in hand, an’ I’d keep him in 
order, too, rampageous as he is when he’s in one of his 
ways.” 

Mrs. Gandy came in, took her place by the bed, and 
sharply said : 


THE LOYERS. 


805 


“ It’s time you was asleep, Mrs. Benson ; ef you go 
to gittin’ yerself excited about anything, you’ll git in a 
wuss snarl than I got you out’n afore supper — an’jyou’ll 
be a screechen’ with pain this blessed night. Them 
composin’ drops acts contrairy, when folks don’t try to 
be quiet therselves, an’ give ’em a chance to settle the 
narves.” 

“ Ef you don’t keep up a clatter wi’ yer tongue, I shill 
soon sink in the arms of Morfy, Miss Gandy ; but you 
is the unaccountablest talker I ever dessociated with. 
I’m floatin’ ’way now to the land o’ dreams, but ef 
you brings me back to the sorrers o’ achin’ bones, I 
won’t let you git no depose yerself.” 

“ Oh, I dessay — you’d do yer best to aggrawate me, 
though I was doin’ all I could for you. You’s welcome 
to sink into anybody’s arms but mine ; but I never 
heard tell o’ Morfy afore, ’cept de chess playin’ man, 
an’ he’s far ’nuff from this.” 

“ You’s a poor ignorintramiustus, Miss Gandy ; but 
I don’t ’spect a nuss what has no intlectibleness to 
onderstan’ my lit’rary delusions. I hearn Mr. Thorne 
read ’bout Morfy out’n a book called Shake-a-spear. 
A curious name for a man that only shook a pen.” 

“ No — -I don’t understand your delusions, an’ what’s 
more, I don’t want to : you talks ’bout what you don’t 
know nothin’ yerself, an’ then calls ’spectable people 
names coz they don’t know what you means. As to 
ignorantramuses, I think you’s the biggest one I ever 
seed. I knows how to nuss peeple what’s sick, an’ I 
don’t pertend to nothin’ else.” 

How long the war of words might have lasted is 
uncertain, if the influence of the narcotic had not 
chained the tongue of one of the combatants. Mrs. 
19 


306 


THE DISCAEDED WIFE. 


Benson dozed off, and finding her no longer troublesome, 
Mrs. Gandy retired to repose with the agreeable con- 
viction that she could hold her own ground against the 
patient she had undertaken to manage. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A NEW JAILER. 

O N the following afternoon another interview took 
place between the lovers, but they did not remain 
near the bower. After meeting at this trysting place, 
Sinclair drew the arm of May beneath his own and 
said : 

“ I heard a suspicious rustling among the vines jnst 
now, and I suspect that some one is concealed there 
who has been sent hither to watch us. It dees not 
signify, as I have written to your father, and he will 
know my position toward you before any officious per- 
son can warn him of our meeting. Let us promenade 
on the margin of the stream, where the prying eaves- 
dropper cannot overhear what we have to say.” 

Nancy was demurely sitting on the grass at the en- 
trance of the dell with her knitting-work in her hands, 
and May made a sign to her to approach. She spoke 
a few words to the girl in a low tone, and then moved 
away with her lover. 

Nancy plunged at once into the nest of verdure 
behind the seat, caught Barney by the hair, and drag- 
ged him from his place of concealment. For a mo- 
ment he seemed bewildered by the suddenness of the 


A NEW JAILER. 


307 


proceeding, but he recovered himself, threw back his 
shaggy mane, and with a malicious twinkle in his eyes, 
said : 

“ I’ve found out all I corned for, Misthress Nancy, 
an’ I’ll make use of it in spite of ye. The ould 
woman up yander, she’ll know what you’re helpin’ 
Miss May to do. That ere nice looking young man 
don’t kape coomin’ here for nothin’, an’ she’ll be a-run- 
nin’ off wi’ him ef her pappy don’t look sharp ; but 
you’ll git yer walkin’ papers afore she gits a chance to 
start, I b’lieves.” 

“ Don’t be a idiot, Carrots, and whafc’s wuss, a im- 
perent one, coz 1 don’t take no sass from the likes of 
you,” replied Miss Bean with a great assumption of 
dignity. “ I wishes you to understand that the gen- 
tleman what comes here a talkin’ wi’ Miss May has 
business of importance to settle with her, an’ he has 
writ to her pa a lettin’ of him know all about it. Now 
what do you say to that, you spyin’ vagabone ? ” 

The boy put his thumb to his nose and spread out 
his fingers with a flourish, as he said : 

“ No ma’am, you don’t come it over this chile wi’ 
sich chaff as that. Ef that ere young jentleman has 
business with Miss May, why don’t he come to the 
house an’ say her there ? ” 

“ Becase it’s pleasanter to walk here in the shade o’ 
the trees, to be sure ; I aint a tellin’ of you no lies, 
Barney, an’ ef you knows which side yer bread’s but- 
tered, you’ll not go back to old Achinbones to tell her 
what you’s seen down here. How much did Mrs. 
Benson offer to give you to come spyin’ round here 
now ? I don’t care what it was, I’ll give yer double to 
hold yer tongue ; an’ ef yer won’t do it, I’ll make my 


308 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


brother give you such a thrashing as will last you a 
long time.” 

Barney scratched his head as if puzzled, but present- 
ly said : 

“ It’s meself that don’t know how I’m to help takin’ 
ye up ’bout the money, Misthress Nancy. It’s agoold 
pace wi’ a whole aigle upon it that ye’d have to gi’ me, 
for the ’tother one offered me a half one, though sorre 
me knows how the ould bird is to be cut in two on a 
goold pace.” 

“ So you’ve been bribed, sure enough, you spalpeen, 
I’ll git the eagle from Miss May for yer and give it to 
yer to-night, if ve’ll go back to Mrs. Benson an’ tell 
her that yer saw nobody about that hadn’t a right to 
be here. That won’t be a lie, anyhow, for that young 
gentleman down yonder has the right to talk wi’ Miss 
Thorne.” 

“ Who gin’ it to him, Miss Bane ? ” asked Barney, 
stolidly. 

“ ’Taint none o’ your business who did ; but he’s 
got it anyhow ; an’ yer tell jest what I say to yer, or 
Sammy shall take yer in hand an’ teach yer better 
manners than to come peekin’ after things that don’t 
consarn yer.” 

“ I done what I was toold ter do, an’ what I ’ar to 
be paid for doin’, but ef yer bid’s higher’n ’tother, I’ll 
take yer goold an’ be mum.” 

“ You’d better be, ef yer cares for yer bones, for 
Sammy’s got a heavy hand o’ his own, an’ ef I told 
him to lay on hard, he’d beat you to a jelly. March 
yerself off now, and hold yer tongue, or it’ll be wuss 
for you. I’ll give you yer pay arter I git it from my 
young lady.” 


A NEW JAILER. 


309 


Barney thus dismissed, shuffled awa} r , but when he 
was out of sight he snapped his fingers toward the glen 
and moved in the direction of the house, muttering to 
himself : 

“ I’ll be even with you yit, Miss Nancy Bane, that’s 
what I will. I’ll take yer money, and the ’tother one’s 
too, but ye’ll see that I’ll be too much for ye, in spite 
of Sammy wi’ the heavy hand.” 

The lovers walked to and fro upon the margin of the 
romantic little stream that flowed through the grounds, 
talking such sweet nonsense as made the time pass on 
rapid wings. The heart of the lonely girl opened to 
new influences beneath the tender words and glances 
of Sinclair, and even at this early stage of their ac- 
quaintance, May felt that to give up the hopes he had 
kindled into life would be impossible. 

Sinclair had no hope that his appeal to her father 
would be successful, though May clung to the belief 
that he would consent to their union. In the event .of 
refusal every dfetail of the elopement that would then 
be their only resource, was discussed and settled. 
When the sun sunk behind the trees, and the glen 
began to gloom with the shadows of twilight, they at 
length reluctantly separated with a promise to meet 
again on the following afternoon. 

On their way home Nancy informed her young lady 
of the discovery of Barney behind the bower, and 
gave her an account of the interview between them. 
That night Carrots received the gold piece for which 
he had bartered his fidelity to the house-keeper, with 
a promise of still further reward if he was faithful to 
his new compact. He satisfied Mrs. Benson by creeping 
to her room and telling her that nothing had as yet 


310 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


been discovered that was worth telling, but he should 
keep up his espionage, and before long he had no doubt 
she would find his services worth the reward she had 
offered him. 

The meeting of the pair continued from day to day 
for more than a week, for Sinclair had decided to 

remain in L till a reply came from Mr. Thorne. 

Every hour thus passed together deepened the attach- 
ment they had formed, till each one believed that the 
world would be well lost for the sake of the other. 

On the afternoon of the seventh day the answer to 
Sinclair’s letter arrived. It was brief, and to the 
point. 

“ Cape May, August 2, 18—. 

“ Mr. Harry Sinclair — Sir : — I find it a very sin- 
gular proceeding on your part to make a proposal for the 
hand of my daughter when I am in utter ignorance of 
your person, position and antecedents. 

“ It is true that you have referred me to various par- 
ties in Philadelphia for information oh those points, 
but as I have neither time nor inclination to commu- 
nicate with them, I must return a decided negative to 
your obliging offer to take Miss Thorne off my hands. 

“ In conclusion, let me say that I have other views 
for my daughter, and without my consent she will 
hardly venture to bestow herself on you, or any other 
man. If you are a gentleman, as you assert yourself 
to be, after receiving this you will withdraw all preten- 
sions to a girl whose acquaintance you must have clan- 
destinely made. I make no comments on such a course, 
as they would be superfluous ; but I shall take my own 
measures to prevent any imprudence on the part of the 
young girl you are ready to entice from heT home. 

“Walter Thorne.” 


A NEW JAILER. 


311 


Sinclair had scarcely expected a more courteous 
reply, but he felt offended at the cavalier style adopted 
by the writer, and every scruple with reference to the 
removal of May from her father’s guardianship vanish- 
ed as he read the words he had penned. 

It was the hour for his usual visit to the glen, and 
he left the town immediately, and walked rapidly in 
the direction of Thornhill. When he came in sight of 
the try sting place, he saw Miss Bean walking to and fro 
in an excited and agitated manner, and as he advanced 
towards her she exclaimed : 

“ It’s all done and over, Mr. Sinclair ; I knew how 
it would be when Miss May had that letter sent to her 
pa. I’m sent off at a minit’s warnin’ and there’s a reg- 
ular she-dragon come to look arter that poor lamb, what 
aint got no friends to stand by her in that house. She’s 
a cryin’ her eyes out over a letter that woman brought 
her. She sent this to ^ou by me, but it was as much 
as ever she could do to get it writ without that Mrs. 
Black a findin’ of it out.” 

In much perturbation, Sinclair took the little twisted 
note offered by Nancy, in which was written in pencil : 

“ My father has taken great offence at your letter, 
and he has written to me in a very violent manner. 
He has sent me a new duenna, who is to become my 
governess. She will occupy the same room with me, 
and her orders are never to lose sight of me for a 
moment. If you could see Mrs. Black you would com- 
prehend how little hope of evasion is left, with such a 
woman on guard. She is as watchful, and observant, 
as a police detective ; as cold and undemonstrative, as 
if made of cast iron. 


312 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“•My father gives no reason for his rejection of your 
proposal. He was far too angry to do that. He lays 
down the law to me, and takes care that I shall have 
no opportunity to break it, by setting this repulsive 
guardian over me. 

“ Oh, Harry, but for my faith in your love, and your 
power to rescue me ultimately from this thraldom, I 
should die. With the sweet hope of yet becoming 
yours, I can bear a great deal, but if that is taken from 
me, I shall sink into the deadly state of apathy from 
which your letters first aroused me. But for that burst 
of sunshine on my weary life path, I believe I should 
have become idiotic. You were my Saviour from such 
a fate, and to you I feel that I owe the devotion of my 
life. 

“ I abjure my allegiance to the father who has been 
one forme but in name, 7 and if you can rescue me 
from the power of this dreadful woman, I will go with 
you without one pang of regret for the filial obligations 
I have violated. 

“ I have one friend in L . Go to Dr. Brandon 

and tell him all. I think he will help us. He knows 
how violent and unreasonable my father is, and when 
you satisfy him as to your position and antecedents, 
he may be willing to do something to aid us. Show 
him this portion of my letter, and make him understand 
that I must escape from the life with which I am threat- 
ened here. 

“ Poor Nancy has been sent away by my father’s 
orders, and she will give you this. I have promised 
her that she shall go to Philadelphia to take charge of 
your house till I can become its mistress. But if she 
would be contented to remain in L a few weeks 


A NEW JAILER. 


313 


I would prefer it, as I may need her services when 
you have arranged for my escape, as I know you will. 

“There will be no possible way of communicating 
with each other by letter, unless Dr. Brandon will be- 
come our friend. He can have access to me, as he 
comes daily to Thornhill to visit Mrs. Benson, as there 
is little prospect that she will speedily recover. 

“ I have scribbled this at intervals, while Mrs. Black 
unpacked her things, and took possession of my room 
as coolly as if it belonged to her. I can now only add 
that I love you, I trust you, and when you can snatch 
me from the durance in which I am held, I will go with 
you. “ May.” 

After reading these lines, and pressing the last pre- 
cious assurance to his lips, Sinclair placed them next 
his heart, and then turning to Nancy, said : 

“ The situation is an unpleasant one, but you need 
not despair of soon seeing your young lady free to go 
whither she will, with no guardian more exacting than 
I am likely to prove. I shall find the means to remove 
her from Thornhill in a few days at farthest, and you 

had better go to your friends in L , and remain 

ready to accompany her when I shall call on you to do 
so. She cannot be married in this State, and when we 
fly together, you shall go with us, Nancy.” 

“ Oh ! Mr. Sinclair, if that could ever be ! But you 
aint a goin’ to git a-head of Mr. Thorne. Nobody ever 
has yet; an’ I knowed how it would be when you 
writ to him. Miss May will pine and fret her heart out, 
as she did afore you come along, an’ made her think 
that she had something worth living for. I’ll go to 

L an’ wait, but it won’t be no use — you’ll never 

get her out’n that dragon’s clutches.” 


314 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I shall try, at all events, and I do not despair of 
success. If I am defeated for the present, I shall still 
hope for a better day. If I cannot baffle Mrs. Black’s 
watchfulness within the next three weeks, I will send 
you to my home in Philadelphia, to remain there till 
its mistress comes to take her place in it.” 

Nancy brightened a little at this promise, but she 
was still very despondent. She said : 

“ Thank’ee, sir, I’ll stop as long as you think best, 
and Miss May has given me money to pay my way till 
she can take me in her service agin. My mother lives 
at Dr. Brandon’s an’ she tole me to go there first, an’ 
tell the doctor the snap she’s in. Arter that you could 
see him, an’ find out ef he’d stan’ by her in her trouble. 
He knows all about the way she’s been treated, an’ 
mebbe he’ll find pluck to help her.” 

“ Perhaps so,” said Sinclair, vaguely, for he was 
thinking deeply, and wished to be free from Nancy’s 
presence that he might arrange his plans in solitude. 
“Follow the directions of Miss Thorne, and I will find 
means to communicate with you whe*i we need your 
services.” 

“ That won’t be very soon, mind my words ; but I’ll 
go on to the town now, sir, and leave you to think 
things out.” 

As Nancy walked down the shaded pathway leading 
to a lower gate that opened from the grounds, Barney 
came from his concealment in a clump of undergrowth 
near the spot on which he had been standing, and mak- 
ing a mocking gesture of defiance, muttered : 

“ Youv’e got yer walkin’ ticket anyhow, Miss Bane, 
an ’you’d not be to the fore to call me Carrots agin in 
a hurry. Goin’ to get old Pillbox to help ’em, is they ? 


A NEW JAILER. 


315 


Much good that’ll do ’em wi’ me to spy on ’em. I likes 
Miss May well enough, but she’s no business to be run- 
nin’ off with that ere }mller-haired chap, an’ I’ll tell on 
her jest to spite that Nancy.” 

Sinclair had walked up the glen, when he parted from 
the girl, and Barney took good care to keep out of his 
sight. Half an hour later he saw him sitting deject- 
edly on the seat beneath the bower, and then went 
slowly back to the house to make his evening report 
to Mrs. Benson. 

To describe the wrath and astonishment of that per- 
sonage at the advent of the new governess would be 
impossible. The small progress she had made toward 
convalescence was suddenly checked and she declared 
herself worse than ever. 

About four o’clock in the afternoon a carriage had 
been driven to the door of Thornhill from which a tall 
angular woman, wearing glasses, alighted. She had 
on a brown dress, shawl and bonnet, and carried an 
umbrella of the same sombre hue in her hand. Two 
trunks were deposited in the hall, and their owner 
sharply inquired of Nancy, who had gone to the door 
to receive her : 

“ Where is Miss Thorne ? I have a communication 
from her father which is ver} 7 " important. Show me 
into a room — I am not accustomed to stand in peoples’ 
halls, with their servants staring at me as if I was a 
lusus naturce. Is your name Nancy Bean ? ” 

“ Walk in here, please’m,” was the flurried reply. 
“ I’ll tell Miss May that company’s come — ’taint often 
we has any, goodness knows. But ef you comes from 
Mr. Thorne, it’s all right.” 

“ Of course it’s all right, or I should not be here at 
all. But I ask you again, are you Nancy Bean ? ” 


316 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Yes’m — that’s my name, an’ I ain’t ashamed of it.” 

“ Then you ought to be, if you are not. You may 
pack up your clothes and get out of this house within 
an hour. I have authority from Mr. Thorne to pay 
you your wages and send you off. I have come here 
to take charge of Miss Thorne’s education, and to see 
that she is not allowed to form improper acquaintances. 
Here is my card and a letter from her father — take 
them to her, and say that I am waiting to speak with 
her.” 

A brown leather satchel with a steel clasp was 
opened with a vicious snap, and the articles in ques- 
tion thrust into the girl’s unwilling hands ; then Mrs. 
Black sat suddenly down on the very edge of a chair, 
and looked straight and defiantly before her. 

Nancy hurried to May’s room and thrust the letter 
and card before her, hysterically saying : 

“ My words has done come true a-ready, an’ I is 
ordered to tramp by a brown woman that’s took pos- 
session o’ the parlor, an’ for that matter of the house 
too, an’ she’s been sent by yer ’pa to teach yer how to 
behave yerself.” 

May looked startled at this sudden address ; she 
glanced at the card and grew very pale — then without 
a word, broke the seal of her letter and read the cruel 
words it contained. It is useless to quote them, for 
the harsh language of an indifferent and offended 
father with such a temper as Walter Thorne possessed, 
are better imagined than repeated. He was furious 
that she had found means to form a clandestine attach- 
ment in spite of his precautions, and declared that 
nothing should induce him to receive Harry Sinclair as 
his future son-in-law. That he had wooed her in so 


A NEW JAILER. 


BIT 


underhand a manner proved to him that the young 
man was unworthy of confidence, and he chose to ig- 
nore the fact that his own course toward his daughter 
had left no other avenue open to either of them. 

Thorne ended by stating that Mrs. Black had till 
lately been sub-governess in a large city boarding- 
school in which the pupils were very strictly kept. 
She was a thorough martinet, and would shirk none of 
the duties imposed on her. May was stringently com- 
manded to submit herself to the constant surveillance 
of this Argus-eyed dame, and to make no attempt to 
evade her authority. 

The poor girl wept some bitter tears over this letter, 
but she soon wiped them awa}^ and gave Nancy such 
directions for her guidance as were possible in the ex- 
cited state of her feelings. She ended by saying : 

“I must go to this stranger now, or she will be 
offended at my delay. Do you get ready to leave, and 
I will find time to write a few lines to Harry, to be 
taken to him as you pass through the grounds. You 
will be sure to find him at the usual place. I am hurt 
at what papa has said to me, Nancy, but I am not dis- 
heartened by his opposition. I shall get away from 
Mrs. Black in spite of her watchfulness.” 

“ When it’s done I’ll believe it, Miss May. You 
aint seen her yet. She’s as hard as stone and sharp as 
steel.” 

“ I can’t stop to talk now, Nancy ; remember what 
I have said, and don’t try to make me despond, when 
I need all my courage to help me in this strait.” 

When May entered the parlor in which Mrs. Black 
had been left so long alone, she found that lady 
divested of shawl and bonnet, walking to and fro with 


318 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


the firm tread of a sentinel on duty. She faced around 
as the light step of the young girl announced her 
entrance to her sharp ears, and brusquely said : 

“ My pupil, I suppose. You’ve kept me waiting 
some time, Miss Thorne, but as you had your father’s 
letter to read and its contents to digest, I can excuse 
that. But I wish to say to you at once that I will tol- 
erate no disrespect in any shape. I’ve been used to 
girls, and I know their ways — I’ve been sent here to 
take absolute authority over you, and to be responsible 
for you ; so you must make up your mind to have me 
always near you. I shall occupy the same room, share 
all your employments, and never allow you, for any 
period of time, to be absent from me.” 

To this unceremonious address May coldly replied : 

“ Of course I must submit to the will of my father, 
Madam ; but under the circumstances, you cannot ex- 
pect from me a very gracious welcome to Thornhill. 
At an earlier period of my seclusion, if papa had sent 
me a companion at all congenial to me, what has so 
deeply offended him might never have occurred. As 
things now are, bolts and bars will not eventually hin- 
der me from evading the bondage in which you are 
commissioned to hold me.” 

Mrs. Black eyed her through her spectacles as May 
uttered a defiance she considered so audacious, and her 
thin lips unclosed to say : 

“ Upon my word ! rebellion at the outset. I hardly 
expected so bold an avowal as that from a girl as 
young as you are ; and one, too, who has been guilty 
of a breach of decorum which might be ruinous to all 
her future prospects. I see that you do not under- 
stand how much you have risked in clandestinely mak- 


A NEW JAILER. 


319 


in g the acquaintance of a stranger, and even allowing 
him to write and ask Mr. Thorne’s consent to your 
marriage with him. After such an experience as that, 
no man of delicacy or refinement would ever ask you 
to be his wife.” 

u I never intend to listen to such a proposal from 
any other than Harry Sinclair, and if papa had chosen 
to satisfy himself of his worth, he would have spared 
himself the trouble of seeking you for my duenna, and 
me the annoyance of being dictated to by such a per- 
son as you seem to be. The manner in which you ad- 
dressed me when I came in proves to me that you are 
not fitted for the position in which my father has 
chosen to place you. I am helpless, and, to a certain 
extent, in your power, but I am of the Thorne blood, 
and that resents and recoils from oppression in every 
shape.” 

Mrs. Black frigidly retorted : 

“ As fiery blood as yours has been tamed by me 
before now ; I shall superintend your studies, and give 
you so much to do that you will have no time to dwell 
on the sentimental folly of which you have been guilty. 
I am tired and hungry and wish to accompany you to 
your room. As I have promised not to lose sight of 
you, we must, of course, occupy the same apartment. 
Will you be good enough to lead the way ? ” 

Mrs. Black gathered up her bonnet, shawl, and um- 
brella, and stalked grimly after her unwilling compan- 
ion. May felt the uselessness of resistance, though 
she rebelled in every fibre of her nature against the 
authority this interloper asserted over her in the house 
of which she should have been mistress. 

When they reached the suit of rooms appropriated 


820 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


to the daughter of the house, Mrs. Black glanced 
around approvingly, for Walter Thorne denied May 
nothing that money could obtain, and they were ele- 
gantly and appropriately furnished. A bed- room and 
sitting-room opened from each other, and in the last 
was her piano and guitar. 

Mrs. Black threw herself into the comfortable 
lounging-chair that was drawn up near an open win- 
dow, commanding a lovely prospect, and said : 

“ I am sure if I had such a home as this I should 
never wish to leave it. The perversity of poor, fallen 
human nature is wonderful, and I am sorry to see it 
illustrated in a creature of such tender years as yours, 
Miss Thorne. I think I shall be perfectly comfortable 
here, and I shall not risk the loss of such pleasant 
quarters by any neglect of the duties assigned me. 
Where is that girl who must have aided you in your 
late underhand course ? I wish to settle with her, and 
send her about her business.” 

“Did my father also give you authority to dismiss 
the servants, Mrs. Black ? Nancy is a faithful and 
industrious girl, and the housekeeper may not be able 
to fill her place very soon.” 

“ She has no doubt been faithful enough to you , but 
as her services as a go-between are not desirable, I 
shall use the power delegated to me to send her away 
at once. It was well for the housekeeper herself that 
she notified Mr. Thorne of her illness, and deprecated 
the idea of leaving you with such a companion as Miss 
Bean in your daily walks, or she would have gone 
after her. I shall not interfere with her in any way, 
but while she is unable to attend to the house, I shall 
look after it myself.” 


A NEW JAILER. 


821 


“ I am to understand, then, that for the time you 
remain, you are to be mistress of the establishment ? ” 

“ Precisely ; and such a position suits my taste. I 
have fine administrative abilities, and I am glad of a 
field in which to exercise them. Is the young person 
I wish to see in the adjoining room ? ” 

“You will find her there, Madam, I believe, if you 
are not afraid to lose sight of me long enough to speak 
with her,” replied May, drily. 

Mrs. Black gave her a sharp glance of disapproval, 
but she arose, and said : 

“ I will send her away at once, and then you and I 
can come to a better understanding. I shall not tole- 
rate impertinence from a pupil, either in manner or 
words, and you will find it best to yield gracefully to 
the authority with which your only parent has clothed 
me. 

She stalked into the adjoining apartment, where 
Nancy was swelling with indignant wrath, at finding 
herself and her young lady placed at the mercy of this^ 
dictatorial woman. 

Her brown skirts had no sooner disappeared than 
May flew to her writing-desk, took from it the package 
of precious letters written to her by Sinclair, and also 
a supply of note paper. A carved cabinet stood in one 
corner of the room, and into a secret drawer known 
only to herself she thrust them, keeping a single sheet 
of the paper, on which she hurriedly began to write, 
with a pencil, the note she had sent to her lover. 

She had completed but a few sentences when she 
heard her duenna returning, and thrust the paper un- 
der under a pile of music, to be taken out and scrib- 
bled on again when an opportunity offered. 

20 


322 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Mrs. Black triumphantly said : 

“ I have settled that matter, and Nancy Bean goes, 
bag and baggage, within the hour. I have ordered 
her to have my trunks brought up, and, if 3^011 will 
show me where to put my things, I will unpack and 
arrange them. I never feel settled till I do that ; and 
I shall be glad to have something to eat, for I have not 
dined.” 

“ You can issue your own orders, Madam, for I 
never interfere with domestic arrangements. That is 
Mrs. Benson’s province,” said May, gravely. “ Since 
you persist in intruding in my chamber, I will show 
you a wardrobe in which you can put some of your 
things, but the dressing-table with the drawers is ap- 
propriated to my own use.” 

“ There is room enough for another, and I shall have 
one brought from some of the chambers not in use. 
Mr. Thorne told me to make such arrangements as 
would suit my own convenience, and I shall certainly 
do so.” 

“ I perceive that such is ) r our intention,” was the 
cold reply. 

The carriage-driver was called on to bring in the 
trunks — which were neither heavy, nor very large. 
With the assistance of Nancy, an old-fashioned bureau 
was brought from one of the upper rooms, and a place 
found for it between two of the windows ; and Mrs. 
Black became absorbed in the occupation of arranging 
her wardrobe in its capacious drawers. 

May hastily finished her note, while she was thus 
emplo} r ed, and gave her ally her parting injunctions. 
When she could write unobserved, she promised to do 
so, and if the opportunity offered, to drop her letters in 


A NEW JAILER. 


323 


the hollow of an old tree that stood by the pathway 
leading into the glen ; and Nancy was to make a daily 
pilgrimage to the spot, to see if anything had been 
deposited there. 

In spite of the stubborn and defiant spirit May had 
shown toward her new jailor, she wept bitterly when 
she parted from the poor girl who had so long been 
about her person ; but Nancy was far too indignant to 
shed tears. She pressed the hand that clung to hers 
to her lips and heart, and said : 

“ Don’t you give up, Miss May. I’ll do all I kin to 
git you out o’ this ; that old dragon is so blind that if 
anything happened to her specs, she couldn’t tell what, 
you was doin’. If I was you I’d break ’em, or get 
’em lost a purpose.” 

“ That is a good hint, Nancy, and I may act on it ; 
good-bye, now, and go at once, so as to give me time 
to compose myself before my tormentor comes in. I 
do not choose to let her see how much she has the 
power to grieve and annoy me.” 

Nancy tore herself away, leaving her box, with her 
few worldly possessions, to be sent after her to Dr. 
Brandon’s, where her mother and brother both lived 
— the latter as gardener and hostler. After her story 
was told, she believed she would be allowed to remain 
until something definite was settled as to her young 
lady’s fate. 

In compliance with May’s wish, Sinclair called that 
evening upon the doctor, taking with him several let- 
ters on business from men in responsible positions, to 
prove his claim to consideration. Nancy had already 
enlisted the sympathies of the benevolent physician by 
relating to him the history of her young lady’s perse- 


324 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


cutions ; and, although he shook his head disapprov- 
ingly over the romantic meetings in the glen, he was 
not greatly surprised to learn that May had made 
every effort to escape from the dreary monotony of her 
life at Thornhill. If she had given her heart to a 
worthless scamp, he thought it would be a fitting pun- 
ishment to her father for his treatment to her, though 
a very sad thing for the unhappy child herself.” 

In spite of Nancy’s assurances that Mr. Sinclair was 
a very fine gentleman, indeed, Dr. Brandon had many 
misgivings ; but when the young lover called on him, 
and frankly told him the whole story of his acquain- 
tance with May, from its commencement down to that 
day, he could not refuse either belief or sympathy, 
but he hesitated about granting assistance to Walter 
Thorne’s daughter to arrange an elopement. 

After conversing together long and earnestly, the 
doctor said : 

“ I have an old-fashioned prejudice in favor of chil- 
dren submitting to the will of their parents ; but in 
this case, the power is so tyrannically used that I can 
almost excuse that helpless girl for trying to set it at 
naught. If her father cared for her or her happiness, 
I would refuse all aid to you, but he does not ; from 
her infancy May has been an object of indifference to 
Walter Thorne — the coldness he felt for her unhappy 
mother extended to her child, unnatural as it seems. 
Mrs. Thorne had some money which was settled on 
her children, and I am afraid that May was shut up at 
Thornhill because she would not relinquish the control 
of it to her father.” 

“ You will not refuse to help us then, Dr. Brandon,” 
said Sinclair with eagerness. “ If it is the money Mr. 


A NEW JAILER. 


325 


Thorne wants, he is welcome to it ; all I ask is his 
daughter. I can support my wife without any aid from 
her resources, and if May chooses to relinquish her in- 
heritance, she can do so at once ; in a few years, I 
shall be able to make a better settlement on her, and I 
will do it.” 

“ I believe you to be thoroughly in earnest, Mr. Sin- 
clair, and I honor your disinterestedness ; but the offer 
to give up May’s little fortune as the price of his con- 
sent to her union with you would not be listened to by 
her father, after refusing it as cavalierly as he refused 
you. I do not know what his views for her may be, 
but I am very sure that he will care little about pro- 
moting her happiness. She has thwarted and offended 
him, and he will seek to punish her for it. I will have 
nothing to do with an elopement — and if such a thing 
is arranged, I wish to know nothing about it ; but I 
will not refuse to take your letters to Thornhill, and 
find the means of giving them to your betrothed. I 
go there every day to visit the housekeeper, and I can 
hold the duenna at bay while I talk with her young 
charge. She will scarcely suspect a grave and reverend 
seignior like me of playing the part of Mercury be- 
tween two despairing lovers.” 

Sinclair grasped his hand, and warmly shook it. 

“ Thank you, Doctor. I shall regard you through 
my life as the best friend I have. Only aid me thus 
far, and I shall rescue my darling before her health and 
spirits are broken beneath the iron rule under which 
she has fallen. May is like a delicate flower which 
droops in a cold and ungenial atmosphere, and we must 
remove her as soon as possible from the harsh tyranny 
of which she has too long been the victim.” 


826 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


u She is delicate, but she has the fire and spirit of 
her race ; and the dragon — as Nancy Bean calls her — 
will hardly have every thing her own way. Miss May 
Thorne can be an obstinate little spitfire, when she is 
borne down on too hard. I’ve seen her as dignified as 
a princess, small as she is, and again as wayward as a 
sprite. Don’t think that you are winning a meek little 
bundle of perfection, for May is very far from being 
that.” 

“I should not like her half so well if she were,” 
said Sinclair, laughing. “ Those inane little women 
who are afraid to call their souls their own are not to 
my taste. If May had not been daring as well as 
trusting, she would never have written that letter 
which first interested me in her. When shall you go 
to Thornhill again, Doctor ? ” 

“ Early to-morrow morning, so you may have your 
missive ready.” 

“ Thanks ; I will do so. And now I will no longer 
intrude upon you.” 

“ Of course you will call every day, Mr. Sinclair, 
and I cordially invite you to come. I must cultivate 
your acquaintance, that I may honestly plead your 
cause with Thorne, if the occasion to do so arises.” 

“ I think you will find employment for all your elo- 
quence, Doctor,” said Sinclair, with a smile, “ and I 
shall doubtless bore you with my presence oftener than 
you will care to see me.” 

The two parted mutually pleased with each other ; 
and on the following morning, when Dr. Brandon 
drove out to Thornhill, he carried a communication 
from Sinclair informing May that, on every night for 
the next week, he would have a carriage in waiting not 


A TREACHEROUS ALLY. 


327 


far from the outer gate of the mansion, and if she 
could effect her escape, they would fly together and be 
united before her father could be warned of her 
evasion. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A TREACHEROUS ALLY. 

D R. BRANDON found his patient rather worse that 
morning, and in a towering passion. The 44 new 
woman” as she called the governess, had been and 
took her keys away from her, and given orders for all 
that was to be done, not only in the house but on the 
small and productive farm attached to the place. Mrs. 
Black professed herself familiar with agricultural de- 
tails, as she was the daughter of a farmer. In house- 
keeping she was equally skillful, for she had kept her 
own establishment while her poor, dear Black lived, 
and he declared she excelled all her neighbors in man- 
agement. 

Mrs. Benson was helpless against her encroachments ; 
she had lost her power of locomotion, but her tongue 
made up in some measure for the inactivity of her 
other members. She vowed to circumvent the gov- 
erness in some way, and she set her brains to work to 
find the means. 

To Dr. Brandon’s inquiries, she replied : 

“I aint a bit better with all yer cornin’, Doctor. 
Your rescriptions aint a mite! o’ use, and that ere Miss 
Gander jest does her own way without mindin’ my 
demonstrances. Atween her an’ the new woman 


N 


828 THE discarded wife. 

what’s come to make us all stan’ roun’, I shall jest 
lose my interlecterbles.” 

“ Mrs. Black would do you good service if she could 
make you stand on any terms, Mrs. Benson,” said the 
doctor, with his eyes twinkling with amusement. “ I 
am sorry that Mrs. Gandy is despotic, but she is a skill- 
ful nurse, and you had better keep her with you. If 
you will keep yourself quiet, you will soon be better, 
I assure you ; but excitement is bad for you.” 

“ Keep myself quiet, indeed, when everything is 
going at sixes and sevens. I can’t depose on my bed, 
an’ know what’s goin’ on in this house ; ’taint no use 
for you nor nobody else to tell me to do it.” 

“ You won’t be responsible for anything that hap- 
pens, since the rule has passed into other hands. Be 
quiet and get well as fast as you can, Mrs. Benson, for 
I scarcely think the new order of things will outlast 
your recovery.” 

“What makes you think that, Doctor? Ef I could 
b’lieve it I’d be on the condelescing list afore many 
more days.” 

“ I’ll tell you in confidence ; report says that Mr. 
Thorne will soon bring another wife home, and if he 
does, Mrs. Black’s services will be superfluous. Mrs. 
Thorne can take charge of May and keep her in order.” 

“ Goin’ to be married, an’ his wife barely six months 
in her grave ! Ef it’s true, Dr. Brandon, he’s a 
deceivir an’ the onreliablest o’ men. I has nearly 
killed myself tryin’ to please him, an’ now he’s goin’ 
to bring somebody here that I’ll hate to see wuss than 
I hate that new woman.” 

The doctor laughed. 

“ I hope you are not afflicted with the 6 green-eyed 


A TREACHEROUS ALLY. 329 

monster,’ Mrs. Benson. That is a state of the case I 
never suspected before.” 

“ It don’t matter what you inspected : if she’s a 
green-eyed monster, what does he want with her? I 
allers thought he had a eye for good looks.” 

“ So he has, as he will prove to you one of these 
days ; good morning. I must see the new importation 
and judge of her myself.” 

Dr. Brandon sent in his name, with a request to be 
admitted to the sitting-room of Miss Thorne. After 
some delay he was invited to proceed to it, and on 
entering he was presented to the new governess by her 
disgusted pupil. 

There were abundant evidences of the new regime 
that had been established at Thornhill. The poems 
and novels that had solaced the solitude of May were 
all removed from the centre table, and in their places 
were treatises on mental and moral philosophy, and 
several elementary mathematical works. A black 
board had been placed over the mirror that hung 
between the two southern windows, and the priestess 
of that shrine stood beside it volubly demonstrating a 
problem she had chalked upon its surface. 

May sat listlessly turning over the leaves of the 
book she held in her hand, secretly wondering if the 
gaunt embodiment of learning before her really ex- 
pected .her to make an effort to remember her instruc- 
tions. She understood enough arithmetic for the 
common purposes of life, and beyond that she did not 
care to go. 

When the visitor came in, May hastened with 
alacrity to interrupt what was so wearisome and unin- 
telligible, and as she sprang forward to grasp the hand 


830 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


of her old friend, the important note was adroitly 
placed in her possession. Then bowing low before 
Mrs. Black, Dr. Brandon courteously said : 

“ As an old friend of your pupil, and the family 
physician for many years, I ventured to ask admittance 
here, Mrs. Black. I heard of your arrival, and I did 
not like to leave the house without paying my respects 
to the stranger within its gates.” 

Mrs. Black made a stiff bow and said : 

“ I am glad you have called, Dr. Brandon, for I find 
that my task here will be no sinecure. My pupil pays 
no attention to what I explain to her. Her thoughts 
seem wandering off into cloudland, and after my most 
elaborate efforts to make her understand what I have 
taken every pains to demonstrate, she looks up vaguely 
and confesses that she knows nothing about it. If you 
can medicine this state of mind, I shall be very glad.” 

“ I promise to do my best, Madame ; but if you 
have undertaken mathematics I am afraid I cannot 
guarantee a cure. My little friend here has had a very 
desultory training, but as far as it has gone it was 
good, for her mother was an intelligent and loving 
guide to her.” 

“ Oh, thank you for that testimonial, dear Doctor,” 
said May, impulsively catching his hand and carrying 
it to her lips. 

Mrs. Black looked shocked at this, and severely 
said : 

“ Miss Thorne, I expect from you more reticence 
of manner ; such demonstrations are, to say the least, 
unpleasant.” 

“ Not to me, I assure you,” said the Doctor demurely. 
“ May is* an impulsive child, and must be dealt with as 


A TREACHEROUS ALLY. 


331 


such, Mrs. Black. If you draw the reins too tight, you 
know what is apt to be the result, and in her case 
gentleness will accomplish far more than severity. I 
hope you will be careful not to overtask her, for she is 
not very strong.” 

“ It does not matter what tasks I set her ; she does 
not seem inclined to learn any of them,” replied the 
irritated teacher. “ She sits as passive as a block when 
I am explaining a difficulty, and then rouses up to say 
she did not comprehend. I am afraid I shall have to 
resort to severe measures with Miss Thorne to bring 
her to a proper sense of the duty she owes herself and 
the respect that is due me as her preceptress.” 

“ I see that you are not inclined to listen to my 
advice, Mrs. Black, but on one point I must be per- 
emptory. In some sense I am responsible for the 
health of this young lady, for I have been her medical 
attendant from her birth, and I insist that her out door 
exercise shall not be curtailed. Whether the tasks are 
accomplished or not, May must take a long walk every 
day when the weather will permit.” 

“ From all accounts, she has taken too many ro- 
mantic rambles already,” was the significant reply.. 
“ I was sent hither by Mr. Thorne to perform the 
important duty of watching over the mental and moral 
welfare of his daughter, and with your permission I 
shall pursue the only course that seems judicious to 
myself. There is a long gallery at the back of the 
house, and daily exercise can be taken on that. When 
Miss Thorne goes abroad, she will accompany me in 
the carriage ; as I am fond of that species of locomo- 
tion, we shall often resort to it.” 

“ That is better than staying within doors all the 


332 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


time, but it will not suffice for one reared as my young 
friend has been. You will see her fade before your 
eyes, and grow more listless and inattentive every day. 
I have warned you of consequences, Madam, and now 
I will take my leave.” 

He bowed, turned to May, and as he took her hand, 
whispered : 

“ Get on her blind side, my dear, and remember that 
I am always your friend.” 

Her eloquent eyes only thanked him, and Dr. 
Brandon departed with his mind almost made up to 
assist in effecting an elopement, that the helpless girl 
might be rescued from the thraldom in which this stiff 
martinet of a teacher intended to hold her. But he 
could not see how it was to be successfully carried out, 
with such a woman as Mrs. Black always on the watch. 

When the door closed on the visitor, that lady 
sharply said : 

“ Since you do not appreciate my efforts to enlighten 
your understanding, Miss Thorne, I will cease to make 
them for the present, and proceed to another depart- 
ment of my duty. You have kept up a correspondence 
with that clandestine adorer of yours, no doubt, and I 
am to get the letters and return them to their writer. 
Give me the key of your desk, if you please.” 

“No lady would pry into the private papers of 
another,” said May, flushing with indignation. “ My 
father could not have commanded such an indignity as 
that.” 

“ I have my orders, and I shall obey them,” was the 
cold response. “ Surrender the key, or I shall take it 
from you.” 

May remembered the letter Dr. Brandon had given 


A TREACHEROUS ALLY. 


833 


her, and believing the woman before her quite capable 
of searching her pocket by force, she drew out the key 
demanded, and throwing it on the table, haughtily 
said : 

“ Play the part of the detective, if you wish it, 
madam, but you will find nothing to reward you for your 
pains. As to myself, I do not choose to see my papers 
desecrated, and I will retire into my chamber while 
you make your inquisition into what does not concern 
you.” 

“ In your present humor, perhaps solitude will be the 
best thing for you, so you may go,” was the reply. 

May gladly left her to her unprofitable search, and 
partially closed the communicating door, leaving a 
crevice wide enough to enable her to see when Mrs. 
Black arose from the table on which the desk was 
placed. She thus gained time for the perusal of Sin- 
clair’s letter, which was hastily drawn forth, pressed 
to her lips, and then eagerly read. 

A second time she went over its precious contents, 
and then a movement in the next room warned her 
that her freedom from espionage was ended. She 
hastily thrust the letter in her bosom, and took up a 
book, trying to assume the cold and impassive expres- 
sion she chose to wear in the presence of her gov- 
erness, when it was possible to do so. 

Mrs. Black’s sallow face was slightly flushed, and 
her dull eyes sparkled behind her glasses, as she ap- 
proached and stood over her refractory pupil. She 
sternly said : 

“ Where are those letters, Miss Thorne ? I must 
have them, and it is quite useless for you to attempt to 
withhold them.” 


334 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Find them, then,” said May, without looking up. 
“ If such things are in existence, I shall not betray to 
you their hiding-place.” 

“ If! Of course they are in existence, and in your 
possession. The young man himself stated that he had 
carried on a correspondence with you, and your father 
particularly enjoined me to send back his letters and 
to demand yours. You must give them up to me, there 
is no alternative.” 

“ I think there is — I shall try masterly inactivity, 
but I have no objection to an opposite course of action 
on your part. There are my keys lying on the stand, 
you are welcome to use them if you choose. After 
invading my waiting desk, I care comparatively little 
about having my clothes and ornaments examined.” 

“ Insolent! How dare you speak thus to me ? ” 

May looked up at the flushed face above her, and 
coldly replied : 

“ I am the daughter of this house, Mrs. Black, and 
not a menial to be addressed in such a manner as you 
presume to assume. I am not afraid of you, and blus- 
ter as you will, you will gain from me no clue to what 
you seek. There are my keys — use them if you see 
fit, but your search will be as unprofitable as the one 
you have already made.” 

Mrs. Black clenched her fingers nervously, as if they 
tingled to give the speaker a box on the ear, but as 
castigation was not enjoined b} r Mr. Thorne among the 
catalogue of her duties, she was afraid to attempt it. 
She emphatically said : 

“ I have had many unmanageable girls to deal with 
before to-day, but never have I encountered one as 
impracticable as you are, 3^0 ung lad}'. What do you 
expect to come to, I wonder.” 


A TREACHEROUS ALLY. 


335 


“ I expect to come to a state of beatitude by escap- 
ing from you and joining my lover,” was the malicious 
reply, intended to exasperate the duenna still further. 

“ Good Heavens ! what a young reprobate the child 
is ! Go back to the sitting-room, and resume your 
studies, while I dive into every secret repository be- 
longing to you. It is my duty and I shall religiously 
perform it.” 

“ I dare say ; religion is often found to be a useful 
cloak to those who have neither conscience nor sense 
of propriety.” 

With this parting thrust, May walked into the next 
room, arranged her disordered desk, and scribbled a 
reply to Sinclair, to be transferred to Dr. Brandon on 
the following morning if an opportunity were afforded. 

She consented to all he proposed, but confessed her 
inability to find means of effecting her escape from the 
argus eyes that were ever on the watch. At the close 
of her epistle, she gave him a ludicrous account of the 
battle she was waging with her new companion, in the 
forlorn hope that she would become disgusted with the 
charge she had undertaken, and throw it up. 

May had ample time to finish and address her epistle 
before Mrs. Black’s investigations in the bed-room 
were over. Finding nothing there, she came to the 
parlor, in which, by this time, May was demurely 
seated, drumming her fingers on her open book, with 
both her letters securely concealed between the lining 
and outside folds of her dress. 

With a spiteful glance toward her, Mrs. Black 
stalked straight to the cabinet, and said : 

“ I should have looked here first. Of course, this is 
the most likely place of concealment for what I am 


336 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


determined to find. I wish you would pay more atten- 
tion to your studies, Miss Thorne. Beating a tattoo 
like that will hardly assist you to memorize your 
tasks.” 

“ I am not trying to do so. Like Marius, I am med- 
itating on the ruins of Carthage,” and she pointed to a 
box of dissected maps which Mrs. Black had brought 
with her to illustrate ancient geography. They had 
been thrown from the table, and so much dilapidated 
by the fall as to be rendered useless. 

“ Did you do that, Miss Thorne, to release yourself 
from the necessity of studying those maps ? ” 

“ It was an accident,” replied May, carelessly, “ but I 
am quite willing to pay you for them.” 

Mrs. Black glared on her, but said nothing more. 
She began to feel that she was getting the worst of it, 
with this young girl she had expected to crush down 
at once. 

The search in the cabinet was as unsuccessful as the 
one in the chamber had been, and turning to May, the 
inquisitor sternly asked : 

“ Is there not a secret drawer in this piece of furni- 
ture ? They are not often made without one.” 

“ If there is you can search for it at your leisure, 
Mrs. Black. I am not the person to apply to for in- 
formation on the subject.” 

“ If you are not, your father is, and I will write to 
him to know what you refused to tell. The letters 
are here : I am convinced of that, so I shall look no 
further. When I hear from Mr. Thorne I can gain 
possession of them.” 

“ Just as you please ; by that time it will be of little 
consequence to me what is done with them.” 

“ What do you mean by that ? ” 


A TREACHEROUS ALLY. 


387 


With sudden passion, May said : 

“ I mean that I shall be dead of disgust and ennui 
at being compelled to support your presence, or I shall 
be safe with the man that loves me, and can make me 
happy. I do not care what you write to my father, I 
will not attempt to master the tasks you have set me. 
I will not make the slightest effort to please you in any 
way, for such a low-bred, meddlesome woman I did 
not believe could be found among educated people.” 

Had a bomb-shell exploded at her feet, Mrs. Black 
could scarcely have been more startled than she was by 
this outburst. She sat several moments mutely regard- 
ing her pupil, for she was far too angry to speak. May 
did not drop her eyes before that steadfast stare, and 
an expression was in them which warned the woman 
that the Thorne spirit was aroused, and it would be 
well not to deal too harshly with her charge. 

After a long pause, she coldly said : 

“ Your opinion is not very flattering, nor expressed 
in a lady-like manner, but I can afford to disregard it. 
As to your studies, if you refuse to permit the light of 
intelligence to be diffused through your imperfectly 
cultivated mind, it will be j^our own loss, not mine. I 
shall set your tasks, and if they are not properly pre- 
pared, I shall report your contumacy to your father — 
he can take such action in the premises as he sees fit. 
As to myself — I shall strictly perform what I conceive 
to be my chief duty, and that is, to guard you from 
every approach on the part of your lover. After the 
audacious speech you made not long ago, I cannot be 
too strict in my surveillance.” 

May made no reply to this long address — in fact she 
scarcely listened to it, for her thoughts had wandered 
21 


338 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


away to her letter and were busy with plans for placing 
it safely in the hands of Dr. Brandon. She could devise 
nothing better than feigning a sudden attack of illness, 
but she feared that her shrewd guardian would pene- 
trate that ruse, and insist on treating her slight indis- 
position herself without the aid of a physician. 

The weary hours passed on, seeming of intermina- 
ble length to the unhappy girl. Mrs. Black was one 
of that class of teachers who lecture on each branch 
of knowledge they undertake to impart ; and in spite 
of May’s evident inattention, she went through the 
routine of studies appointed for the day — explaining 
and illustrating as she proceeded. 

Under other circumstances, May would have listened 
with both pleasure and profit ; but in the present state 
of her feelings, the monotonous tones of Mrs. Black’s 
voice grated on her ears as the croaking of a raven, 
and she perversely closed her inner sense to all she 
was saying. 

The dinner over, the governess read aloud from Rol- 
lin’s ancient history, which the enforced listener thought 
as dry as the dust of the centuries that have rolled 
away since its heroes acted their little drama in this 
world of ours. When that was ended, May was told 
to practice, but music had no charms for her in the dis- 
cordant state of her mind, and she coolly declined. 
Mrs. Black did not insist, for she saw that it would be 
useless ; and May sat listlessly folding her hands while 
her companion uttered a monologue on the duties of 
children to their parents, and to the society of which 
they were preparing to become members. She was 
one of that class of women who must talk whether the 
audience be congenial or not, and all I have to say of 
such is, “ heaven help the listeners ! ” 


A TREACHEROUS ALLY. 


339 


The supper hour at last rolled around, and the sum- 
mons to the dining room was obeyed with alacrity by 
the weary girl. She wished that Mrs. Black could be 
induced to eat on until bedtime that her unwearied 
tongue might cease to wag. But the meal was soon 
dispatched, and May was returning to her prison when 
a message came from Mrs. Benson, asking her to come 
to her room. 

Mrs. Gandy was the messenger, and May proudly 
said : 

“ It is useless to ask me to go anywhere without first 
obtaining the consent of my jailer. I am not a free 
agent, Mrs. Gandy.” 

“ Few girls of your age are allowed to be, Miss 
Thorne,” said Mrs. Black, with asperity, “but I have 
no objection to your going to see the housekeeper. I 
know it is not her fault that you have been led so far 
astray as you have lately gone. You can remain with 
Mrs. Benson twenty minutes, and I will avail myself 
of the opportunity to give some orders about the man- 
agement of the place. My talents are of a versatile 
order, and I am glad to have a new field for their ex- 
ercise.” 

May did not stop to hear the end of her speech. 
Little as she liked Mrs. Benson, she found her pre- 
sumptuous ignorance less repulsive than the everlast- 
ing stream of words that flowed from the lips of this 
insatiate talker. She hurried away, glad to get beyond 
the sound of Mrs. Black’s voice, and soon found her- 
self besides the couch of the invalid. 

As soon as she came near, Mrs. Benson abruptly 
began : 

“ I aint no better, Miss May, so don’t waste no time 


340 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


in axin’ of me ’bout myself, caze I’ve got suffin else to 
talk ’bout, an’ we aint got much time. Miss Gander’s 
gone to her supper, but she won’t stay long, an’ what 
I’ve got to dispatiate ’pon I don’t want her to know 
nothin’ ’bout. Come closeter, an’ tell me what yer 
thinks o’ the detrusion of that talkin’ critter in this 
house.” 

May laughed bitterly. 

“ I think it as unwarrantable as your conduct to me 
was before she came. I have only changed keepers, 
that is all ; but she is more detestable to me than you 
were.” 

“ Hishe, Miss May, don’t talk that way. I’ve re- 
pented of what I done to vex yer, an’ I’m on your side 
now. Ef I kin help yer I’ll do it, an’ mebbe I kin, 
though I’m laid up here like a old busted steam biler.” 

The young girl listened with some surprise and a 
little incredulity. She hurriedly asked : 

“ What has brought about such a change, Mrs. 
Benson? Excuse me if I feel a little doubtful as to 
your sincerity.” 

“You need not do that, Miss May, for I disseverate 
to you that I am in airnest. Yer pa aint treated me 
right, an’ I’m ready to show him that I kin do suffin in 
my turn as ’ll make him think he’d better not ha’ sent 
that palaverin’ woman here to lord it over us all. I’m 
ready to help you all I kin to get out’n her clutches, 
even if you runs right inter yer lovyer’s arms.” 

May blushed and laughed ; but she eagerly caught 
at the straw held out to her, and said : 

“Tf you will do that, Mrs. Benson, I will forgive all 
you have hitherto done to annoy me. I am wretched 
with that woman, and I do all I can to vex her ; but that 


A TREACHEROUS ALLY. 


841 


is not much satisfaction, and I shall go wild if I have to 
listen to her harangues every day of my life. Upon 
your honor, will you help me and be true to me ? ” 

44 I’ll help you circumvent her wi’ all my heart, Miss 
May, for I hate her like pizen — a stuck-up, wizen-faced 
old chatter-box ! She ain’t no lady, even if she has the 
_ iddication to use all them long words she’s so fond of. 
Ef you want letters sent to that young man as has 
lately ha’nted the groun’s, I’ll take ’em an’ send ’em by 
Carrots. He knows better ’n not to do what I tells 
him.” 

44 Thank you,” replied May, still hesitating to trust 
her. 44 1 shall be glad to send a note I have written to 
Dr. Brandon ; I wish to consult him, but Mrs. Black 
will scarcely admit him to our parlor again, even if he 
should wish to come. If you will take charge of that, 
and give it to him to-morrow morning when he calls, I 
shall feel very grateful.” 

44 Give it to me, my dear, and I will reposit it in his 
own hands without nobody bein’ the wiser.” 

May drew forth the envelope, and with a lead pencil 
she took from her pocket, wrote on one corner : 

44 1 can see Mrs. B. every day, and through her I can 
communicate with you. — M. T.” 

She then said : 

44 1 am compelled to trust to you, Mrs. Benson — I 
can only hope that you will not betray me. Give my 
letters to Dr. Brandon himself, as Barney will hardly 
he a safe messenger.” 

44 Just as you please — I only injested him for want 
of a better — I’ll do anything to discomflustrate the 
doin’s of that ere new woman.” 

The letter was transferred to Mrs. Benson ; and the 


342 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


time allotted her having expired, May left the room with 
a much lighter heart than she had carried into it. The 
most formidable difficulty to communicating with Sin- 
clair was removed, and she was sanguine enough to 
believe that all the rest would be easy of accomplish- 
ment. 

If she had seen the look of triumph on the face of 
the housekeeper as she left the room, her new hopes 
would have been dashed to the earth at once. There 
was an expression of malignant satisfaction in the eyes 
of Mrs. Benson as she muttered : 

“If I am laid up and good-for-nothing, as that 
critter had the imperance to tell me I was, I’ve got the 
means now of puttin’ her under my foot, an’ I’ll do it 
too. I’ll play inter the hands of them lovyers an’ 
make ’em think they’s a-gwine strait to the heaven o’ 
mattermony. Miss May shill even git outside the 
house an’ on her way, but she shill find a lion on her 
path in the shape o’ her pa, what’ll bring her back 
quick enough, an’ give me back the confidence he has 
deposed in that hateful antelope.” — [Interloper, I 
suppose she meant.] 

May returned to her captivity with spirits so much 
lightened that she played with some spirit, and even 
sang a few songs. She found this pleasanter employ- 
ment than listening to the never-ending tirades of her 
governess, so she continued at the piano till ten struck 
upon the alabaster time-piece on the mantel, and Mrs. 
Black summoned her to retire. 

Not the least part of May’s penance was being com- 
pelled to sleep in the same bed with her disagreeable 
companion. Mrs. Black was a pink of neatness and 
order, but that scarcely lessened the disgust with 


A TREACHEROUS ALLY. 


343 


which her young charge lay down by her side. The 
duenna took the front side of the bed, that she might 
be made aware of any attempt on the part of her 
prisoner to leave it, and May lay as far apart from her 
as possible, revolving schemes of escape, of which none 
seemed practicable. 

It was something gained, she thought, to have won 
over Mrs. Benson as an ally, and unfortunately she did 
not dream of the treacherous use the housekeeper 
designed making of the power the helpless girl had 
placed in her hands. When Dr. Brandon received the 
letter that had been entrusted to his keeping, he saw 
no reason to doubt the housekeeper’s good faith, and 
the two became the medium of communication between 
the divided lovers. 

May’s notes were necessarily very brief, for they 
were written at such moments as she could command 
when Mrs. Black’s tiresome vigilance relaxed for a 
brief space. She had inherited artistic taste from her 
father, and she was allowed to cultivate it during the 
two hours of daily reading inflicted on her. When 
she could do no better, she used her pencil and colors to 
trace a few lines on the paper she surreptitiously placed 
upon her picture while the near-sighted eyes of her 
governess were bent on her book. 

Thus the days passed on drearily enough to her, and 
still no plan had been arranged for her escape. The 
only recreation she was allowed was a short evening 
drive and a promenade of half an hour daily on the 
long piazza in the rear of the house. Health and hope 
both began to fail her under this discipline, and Mrs. 
Black found that she was suffering from a slow fever 
which threatened to consume her strength and probably 
end in something more serious. 


844 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


She wished to try her own nostrums on her, but 
May refused to accept them, and Dr. Brandon was 
finally called in. He was shocked at the change in her 
appearance, and reproached the governess with the 
strictness with which the poor girl was confined to the 
house. She listened to him coldly, and replied that 
she did only what she had pledged herself to do, 
and May was not ill from want of exercise, but from 
perverse fretting after what could not be allowed to 
her. 

The good doctor prescribed for his patient, spoke a 
few gentle and encouraging words in her ear as he 
bent over her, and went away in a passion. He met 
Sinclair near the gate awaiting his report in much 
anxiety : after giving it he gruffly said : 

“ Jump in, youngster, and while I drive on to town 
we must settle on some plan to get that poor child 
away from the stolid wretch that is slowly torturing 
her to death. I did not think anything could induce 
me to lend my aid to an elopement, but I shall do it in 
this case. Thorne is a cruel and hard-hearted father, 
and there is less excuse for him than for most men who 
shut up their daughters to keep them from manying 
against their will. He ran away with his first wife, he 
should remember.” 

“ I was not aware that he had been married more 
than once,” said Sinclair in surprise. 

“ Oh, it’s an old story, and was a terrible scandal. 
He married some girl in Virginia when he was regarded 
as a wandering artist ; but the old governor wouldn’t 
hear of receiving her as his daughter, and his son 
actually repudiated lier, and married May’s mother a 
few months later. They pretended to prove that the 


A TREACHEROUS ALLY. 


345 


first marriage was a mere form, and the girl un worthy 
to assume the position to which she expected to be 
elevated, but that was all nonsense. Ada Digby stood 
by her, and she is one of the noblest women I know. 
If she was here now, half our difficulties would be 
over, but she is far away looking after some motherless 
children that have been sent to her by an old friend, 
and we must do the best we can without her.” 

“ With you to aid me, Doctor, I shall not feel the 
want of other assistance. From your account of May, 
we must get her away from Thornhill as soon as possi- 
ble, but heretofore we have been unable to hit on a 
plan of doing so.” 

“ There is but one way : to drug that infernal 
clacking machine up yonder. I believe that woman 
has talked the child sick, but there isn’t much the 
matter yet. It is only lassitude and depression of 
spirits that ails her. She will soon get over that when 
we have her away from that dull old house where she 
has been shut up so long.” 

“ But how are you to drug Mrs. Black ? She is not 
taking medicine from you.” 

“ That is true, but she is particularly fond of 
Catawba wine, I have learned from Mrs. Benson, and 
takes a glass, or maybe more, every evening in place of 
tea. I shall prepare a bottle for her especial use, and 
I think after she has taken her usual quantity from it, 
she’ll sleep the sleep of the righteous for at least a 
dozen hours. That will be your opportunity, and of 
course you will avail yourself of it.” 

“ Dear sir, how shall I find words to thank you for 
at last consenting to act the part of our good genius. 
When will you arrange to carry out our programme ?” 


846 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ As soon as May is able to play her part in it. I 
whispered a few words to her this morning, which will 
benefit her more than all the drugs in my pharmacopoeia. 
This is Monday ; on Thursday night I think we may 
arrange for the flitting. I wish I could go with you, 
but my professional duties forbid it ; but Nancy Bean 
will be ready to accompany her young lady. Thorne 
will be furious when he learns the part I have taken, 
but I shall not care for that ; he is unworthy to claim 
such a daughter as May, and I feel that I am doing 
right in assisting to place her in more humane and 
honorable hands.” 

“ Thanks, Doctor ; your confidence in me shall be 
justified. When May is installed in the pretty home 
I have prepared for her, you shall visit us, and witness 
the happiness your kindness will enable us to secure.” 

The two drove slowly onward arranging the plan of 
the elopement, of which Walter Thorne had already 
been forewarned by the perfidious housekeeper, and at 
that very hour he was preparing to travel back to. his 
home to circumvent the plotters in the moment they 
thought themselves secure of success. Which would 
win was uncertain, for the irate father had a tedious 
journey before him, only a portion of which could be 
made by rail. 


CHAPTER XX. 

PREPARED TO ELOPE. 

T HE few words whispered by Dr. Brandon, and a 
note he found means to slip in her hand, did more 


Prepared to elope. 347 

for May than the drops he left her. In the afternoon 
she arose and made her toilette ; for the first time for 
days she found herself alone, for Mrs. Black, in the 
belief that she was securely fastened to her bed for 
that day at least, had locked the door of the outer 
room and availed herself of the opportunity to go out 
on a tour of inspection, and interfere in every possible 
manner with the people employed on the place. She 
was that fearful nuisance, a talkative, meddlesome 
woman, and she was determined to make the most of 
the brief authority she had wrested from the house- 
keeper. 

Thankful for this brief respite from her surveillance, 
May removed Sinclair’s letters from the secret drawer 
of the cabinet, and collected such clothing as would 
be indispensable to her in the event of her flight from 
Thornhill. These she placed in a deep drawer which 
had already been so thoroughly investigated by Mrs. 
Black that she hoped it would escape further scrutiny. 
Wearied by these efforts, for her strength seemed of 
late to have deserted her, she threw herself pale and 
panting into a chair beside the open window, and 
awaited the return of her jailer. Suddenly a head 
was raised above the ledge, and the voice of Nancy 
spoke in subdued tones : 

“ It’s me, Miss May ; don’t be scar’t. I saw the 
dragon go down to the farm to scare the men a-workin’ 
there wi’ her clatterin’ tongue, an’ I jest hustled up 
here as fast as I could to tell you it’s all done fixed. 
You’re to be ready Thursday night to go along of me 
to the kerridge what Mr. Sinclair will have down by 
the lower gate. He’ll come up to the window an’ help 
you out, an’ I shill be somewhars near, you may be 


348 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


sure. The} r means to give Miss Black suffin’ in de 
wine she takes every night at supper. A nice habit 
that for a woman what has to set a ensample to the 
misfortunit gals she gits under her thumb. My ! but 
you’re looking pale and downsey.” 

“ I am not well, but the news you bring me, Nancy, 
will act as an elixir vitae. I feel better already. Dr. 
Brandon hinted this morning that something was to be 
attempted, but of course he could not explain. The 
brief note he left me from Harry told me nothing but 
that he would never rest till I was safe under his own 
protection. His plans have been settled to-day, I sup- 
pose.” 

“ Yes — till you fell sick the doctor wouldn’t do no 
more than take the letters, but he’s got riled at the way 
that woman treats you, an’ he’s goin’ to drug her wine. 
I jest run up to the place, hopin’ I might git a chance 
to give you a hint, for I thought as you was sick mebbe 
the new manager would be a runnin’ out arter the other 
people she torments some as well as you. She thinks 
she knows everything, and she tells the hands about 
siles and skientific farmin’, an’ the Lord knows what : 
she wants ’em to try some new-fangled ways of gittin’ 
things out’n the yeth ; but that aint no matter now — 
we’ve got suffin’ else to think ’bout. Aint you got 
nothin’ you’d like me to take keer on till you gits out’n 
the dragon’s claws ? ” 

May remembered the letters she was so anxious to 
save from the inspection of her enemy, and she hasten- 
ed to take them from the drawer and place them in 
Nancy’s hands with directions to take them at once to 
Sinclair for safe-keeping. This was scarcely accom- 
plished, when the sound of the lock turning caused 


PREPARED TO ELOPE. 


349 


Miss Bean to dart aside from the window and May to 
sink back in the recesses of her chair, trembling and 
panting for breath. 

“You up!” exclaimed Mrs. Black. “I thought 
you were too ill to leave your bed, or I should not have 
gone away. Who have you been talking with, for I 
am sure I heard some one speaking as I came near the 
door.” 

“ May recovered her composure and quietly said : 

“ Perhaps I have been talking to myself ; it is a 
habit some people have, and I have been left enough 
alone to cultivate it.” 

Mrs. Black suspiciously regarded her, and then 
said : 

“ I am sure the voice was not yours. Let me look 
out of that window — I wish to ascertain if any one has 
had the hardihood to approach and communicate with 
you in my absence.” 

Certain tli^t by this time Nancy had effected her es- 
cape, May arose and said : 

“ I will retire, not only from the window, but from 
the room. I have been imprudent in getting up, and 
I will go back to my bed again.” 

“ You can lie on the sofa, if you please, as I wish 
you to be present at an investigation I am now compe- 
tent to make. The secret drawer in the cabinet has 
been revealed to me by your father, and I am to take 
out its contents and keep them till he comes him- 
self.” 

She glanced sharply out of the window as she spoke, 
but seeing no one lurking near, she took off the scoop- 
like bonnet in which she had gone out, and prepared 
for the search she intended to make. 


350 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


May took possession of the sofa as she coldly said : 

“You are welcome to the contents of the drawer, 
but papa can gain little information from blank 
paper.” 

“ If I find nothing else I shall be certain that you 
have availed yourself of my absence to remove the 
letters that must have been concealed there. If they 
are not forthcoming, I shall institute another search 
which, I fancy, will be more successful than the first.” 

“ I hardly think it will, but you can exhaust your 
superfluous energy as well in that way as in any 
other.” 

May watched her with malicious amusement as she 
sought for the spring, found it, and drew forth the note- 
paper which had not been thought worth removing. 
Every sheet of* it was held up to the light and as care- 
fully investigated as if Mrs. Black expected to find 
sympathetic writing upon it. Finding herself baffled, 
she again took possession of May’s keys, and went on 
another tour of discovery. Nothing resulted from it, 
and all her sharp questioning could not draw from her 
pupil any hint as to the disposal of the letters. 

In the next three days May recovered rapidly — the 
hope that had dawned on her seemed to give her new 
life, and she looked forward to her release with a thrill- 
ing sense of joy that had long been a stranger to her 
heart. 

The last week in August had come, and a heavy 
storm burst over Thornhill on the appointed day, but 
her courage did not falter, nor her determination to 
join her lover at all hazards fail her a single moment. 

On this last day she dreaded the shrewd observation 
of her guardian, and she availed herself of the advice 


PREPARED TO ELOPE. 


851 


Nancy had once given her to purloin Mrs. Black’s 
spectacles. When that lady arose in the morning they 
were put on before she could accomplish anything, for 
she was so short-sighted that she could not distinguish 
objects across the room without them. 

On the previous night, after she had laid them aside 
May managed to gain possession of them, and after the 
duenna was asleep she broke the glasses out and threw 
the gold frames upon the carpet at the foot of the bed. 
Laughing at her exploit, she then demurely composed 
herself to sleep. 

The anger and dismay of Mrs. Black when she 
awoke and searched for her spectacles in vain, afforded 
her victim intense amusement, though she lay perfectly 
still and feigned to be asleep. May was presently 
shaken violent^, and an angry face peered closely in 
her own, while a voice hissed in her ear : 

“ What have you done with my glasses ? for I know 
that you alone could have removed them.” 

May rubbed her eyes and pretended to awake sud- 
denly : 

“ What are you saying, Mrs. Black ? Why do you 
shake me in this way ? I do not like to be treated so 
unceremoniously.” 

“ I dare say not, but when you have played such a 
trick on me as to take my eyes away, I must demand 
that they shall be restored instantly. I can do nothing 
without my glasses, as you know.” 

“ Have you really lost them ? What on earth can 
have become of them, for nobody comes in this room 
after we retire ? ” 

“ Therefore you are responsible for them. Get up 
and find them for me instantly. They might be under 
my feet, and I could not see them.” 


352 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ You may have brushed them down with the bed- 
clothes as you got out of bed,” suggested May good 
humoredly. “ Of course, I will help you to find them, 
but I beg that you will not accuse me of having mis- 
placed them. I will put on my slippers and institute 
a search at once.” 

Mrs. Black commenced groping about the floor, but 
May was too quick for her ; she found the empty 
frames on the spot on which she had thrown them, and 
adroitly removed them beside the stand on which they 
had been deposited the previous night. She had wrap- 
ped the broken pieces of glass in a paper, and conceal- 
ed them in the sleeve of her gown ; they were thrown 
upon the carpet, and her foot came down upon them 
with a sudden crash. 

“ Oh, what a misfortune,” she exclaimed. “ I have 
found them, Mrs. Black, beside the table, sure enough ; 
but I was so unfortunate as to step upon them, and they 
are quite useless.” 

She held up the empty frames in confirmation of her 
words, and the face of the angry and excited duenna 
was brought almost in contact with her own. In a 
voice choked with wrath, she said : 

“ Since I have been in this house you have done all 
that you could to annoy and defy me ; but this is the 
culminating insult. I will never believe that you step- 
ped on them by accident. But the loss of my glasses 
shall only render me more vigilant, besides, it is one 
tha't can easily be repaired ; I will go in town immedi- 
ately after breakfast, taking you along, and have them 
replaced.” 

“ I shall be glad to take an airing, but I am afraid 
the day will prove too inclement. As to my agency in 


PREPARED TO ELOPE. 


353 


destroying your glasses, I cannot see what I am to gain 
by doing so. Come, get in a good humor for once, 
Mrs. Black, for I promise you to be very good to-day. 
To repay you for the mischief I have done you, I will 
not be guilty of one thing to annoy you.” . 

A little mollified by the first words of submission she 
had wrung from her young charge, Mrs. Black stood a 
moment undecided as to what course she should take, 
but as she knew by experience that nothing was to be 
gained by harshness, she finally said : 

“ Very well, Miss Thorne, we shall see how you will 
conduct yourself. By your behavior I shall be able to 
judge of your culpability in this affair. If there is 
any attempt to take advantage of my imperfect vision, 
I shall know what steps to take to keep you safe till 
your father arrives.” 

“Is my father expected at Thornhill? ” asked May, 
with a sudden sinking of the heart. 

“ He will be here in a few days, and I am sure that, 
when he comes, I shall be glad enough to surrender 
the difficult charge I have undertaken. I thought I 
should like the life here, but your contumacy is too 
much for me, and I think I shall resign my situation. 
Your step-mother may take charge of you, for you will 
soon have one, it is said.” 

May made no reply to this piece of information, and 
Mrs. Black peered disconsolately from the window ; 
for it was raining slowly, and the rising wind gave 
premonition of a storm that came on in wild fury at a 
later hour of the day. 

As May had promised, she was very tractable and 
polite on this last day of penance ; she listened re- 
spectfully to the oral instructions of her governess, and 
22 


854 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


even read aloud two mortal hours herself from that 
weary history of ancient times. With a natural feel- 
ing of triumph she saw that Mrs. Black had fallen 
asleep in her chair under the infliction, and she softly 
put the book aside, and began her preparations for 
departure. 

A traveling satchel, that had belonged to her mother, 
was filled with such things as she had selected to take 
away with her, and concealed in the closet in her bed- 
room. She then went back to the sitting-room to find 
Mrs. Black still enjoying her siesta. 

The supper-bell aroused her, and they went out to- 
gether to the table. A fresh bottle of wine had been 
uncorked for Mrs. Black, for she declared that tea 
and coffee prevented her from sleeping, and it was her 
habit to drink light wine at the evening meal ; very 
soon after it was over she complained of not feeling 
well, and as soon as they gained the sitting-room she 
threw herself upon a sofa, and in half an hour was 
sleeping profoundly. 

May collected the few things she intended to take 
with her, placed her hat and shawl upon the table, and 
sat down in a tumult of fear and hope, to await the 
coming of her lover. What if her father should arrive 
earlier than Mrs. Black had said he would come — if he 
should arrest her flight and bring her back to her 
dreary prison ? Her heart sank within her at the 
mere thought of such an end to her attempt to escape 
from his authority. 

She sat listening to the weary sighing of the wind 
among the trees, the monotonous patter of the rain- 
drops, for the storm was dying away, and the moon 
was making feeble efforts to struggle through the 


THE AVENGER ON THE TRACK. 355 

clouds that obscured her light. Ten o’clock was the 
hour appointed for her escape, and the lonely and ex- 
cited girl thought it would never roll around. The 
hands on the clock seemed scarcely to move, and as 
the time passed, her agitation became almost uncon- 
trollable. 

Mrs. Black slept on, and as the night grew cool, 
May brought a shawl and spread it over her; for 
little as she liked her, she did not wish any evil to 
result to her from the trick that had been played on 
her. 

A few moments later something was thrown against 
the window, and she saw a tall form standing outside, 
wrapped in a heavy cloak, with his hat slouched over 
his face. With a faint cry May sprang forward and 
threw up the sash ; the man vaulted lightly into the 
room, and the overwrought girl uttered a faint cry of 
alarm, and sunk senseless at his feet. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


THE AVENGER ON THE TRACK. 

FOREIGN steamer was entering the port of New 



J_jL York, and as she moved gracefully onward the 
excited passengers gathered in groups upon the deck 
— some gazing upon the unknown land in which they 
hoped to find peace and plenty ; others, with swellirig 
hearts and dewy eyes welcoming again the sight of 
father-land — of home , with all its tender ties and sweet 
associations. 


356 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


But among them was one who came back almost as a 
stranger to her native shores. The unformed and in- 
experienced girl who left them seventeen years before 
with a heart half-broken by the desertion of the one she 
loved, had little in common with the mature woman 
who gazed out on the beautiful bay with sad eyes and 
weary heart. But that sorrow had been buried long 
ago, and over its grave had grown rank tares of cher- 
ished vengeance which had been carefully nourished, 
and they were now ready to bring forth their bitter 
fruit. 

The passage of these years had wrought a wonderful 
metamorphosis in the uncultured country girl ; they 
had given her grace, accomplishments, knowledge of 
the world, and emptiness of heart, for she stood alone 
in the Babel of life around her, with few sympathies in 
common with her kind. The early wrong she had 
suffered had killed the life of her soul, and she cher- 
ished now but one absorbing desire — to repay the man 
who had desolated her young life in the same coin he 
had dealt out to her. 

This purpose had brought Claire back to the land of 
her birth, and any one who looked at her as she leaned 
against the bulwarks and looked out with a vague and 
yearning expression of sadness on her expressive face, 
would have comprehended that she was a formidable 
antagonist to encounter in any game of hearts she 
wished to play successfully. 

Claire was thirty-two years of age, yet few would 
have believed that over that fair head more than 
twenty-three summers had passed. Her lithe and 
graceful form, though perfectly rounded, possessed a 
latent strength of nerve and muscle not often found 


THE AVENGER ON THE TRACK. 357 


among women in her class of life, and a power of 
endurance which the refined delicacy of her appear- 
ance would not have suggested. 

She herself declared that the iron in her blood had 
hardened into steel by the pressure brought to bear 
upon her nature in the years in which her character was 
receiving its impress for good or evil. She was now a 
perfectly developed woman who felt her own power to 
accomplish whatever she undertook, and woe to him 
against whom that power was to be used, for she was 
merciless in the purpose which had brought her back 
over the wide sea to bring Walter Thorne to an ac- 
count for the treachery which had blighted her opening 
life. 

Her beautiful face, so brilliant with animation in the 
social circle, was now clouded and sad enough to make 
one believe that this protean creature could feel deeply 
and truly, if the right chord was touched ; but of that 
there was little hope in the destiny she was hastening 
to embrace. 

She wore a dark traveling dress of soft material that 
flowed to her feet in dainty folds, showing the graceful 
curves of her form, for it was in the days before hoops 
were worn that this Nemesis came on her vengeful 
mission to the land of her birth. Plain linen collar 
and cuffs, and a closely fitting bonnet with a long veil 
floating from it, completed her simple toilette. She 
had taken off one of her neatly-fitting gloves, and the 
hand that grasped the fluttering folds of her veil, 
though shapely and fair, had a nervous power in its 
long, slender fingers which was also characteristic. 
This woman understood herself ; she had matured her 
plans, and she meant to carry them out, cost what it 
might to herself or others. 


358 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


The early part of the voyage had proved very tem- 
pestuous — the ship on which Claire sailed out of the 
port of Havre with a favoring breeze was caught in a 
storm on the second day, and so disabled that she lay 
at the mercy of the waves, in danger of going down 
with every soul on board. The passengers preferred 
clinging to the wreck as long as there was safety in 
doing so, to trusting themselves upon the treacherous 
ocean in open boats. 

They watched and hoped that some vessel would 
cross their track that could release them from their 
perilous position, but it was three days before one ap- 
peared on the horizon. Signals of distress were made, 
and after an hour of breathless suspense they were 
seen and responded to. By this time the storm had 
subsided, and an English steamship bore down upon 
them and rescued the passengers and crew — leaving 
the unfortunate Vesta to her fate. 

Among the passengers that crowded the deck of the 
Britannia, Claire found two friends with whom she had 
been intimately associated at Baden during the pre- 
vious summer, and who had subsequently visited her 
in Paris. 

Mrs. Stanly and her brother, Robert Orme, had pass- 
ed two years in Europe, and both acknowledged that 
to their acquaintance with Madame L’Epine they owed 
the most agreeable recollections of their tour. Their 
surprise and delight at recognizing her may be imag- 
ined, though Claire was by no means gratified by the 
encounter, much as she really liked them both. They 
eagerly offered her every attention, and during the 
remainder of the voyage, she was compelled to come 
out of her dreams and play the part expected of her 


THE AVENGER ON THE TRACK. 359 


by these admiring friends. Thenceforward the weather 
was delightful, and Claire had no excuse for confin- 
ing herself to her state-room, for she was never sea- 
sick. 

Madame L’Epine stood apart from the others, but 
she was not alone : presently a gentleman who had been 
gaily conversing with a group of ladies left them, and 
drew near her. He was middle-aged, stalwart, and 
handsome, though an air of dissipation marred the dig- 
nity of his presence. His toilette was very carefully 
made, and he wore a large diamond on his breast, and 
another on the fourth finger of his left hand. 

The sound of his voice aroused Claire from the 
reverie into which she had fallen, and she hastily drew 
down her veil, and turned to him. 

This was Mr. Orme, who had fallen madly in love 
with Claire, and he now sought an opportunity to win 
her. She tried to avoid his wooing, but finding it im- 
possible, she at last frankty stated her situation and 
her intentions to him, adding : 

“ The bond that binds me to my husband is not less 
indissoluble, even if it has been pronounced void by 
the decrees of man. I am a Catholic, and I hold firmly 
to the belief that whom God hath joined together, no 
merely human tribunal can put asunder. I am not 
what is called a pious woman. I am afraid that I am 
not a good one, but that belief is mine, and my actions 
will be governed by it. After this assurance, I hope 
that you will withdraw your attentions, and allow me 
to go on my way unmolested.” 

Orme silently regarded her a few moments, and then 
said : 

“ Have you, indeed crossed the Atlantic to seek that 


360 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


recreant husband, madame ? for recreant he must have 
been to relinquish so fair and enchanting a being as you 
are. The fault must have been in him, not in you, for 
I find you a gem without flaw — peerless — resplendent.” 

Claire laughed bitterly : 

“This is a strange conversation to hold here, and at 
this time ; but nobody is minding us, and we may speak 
as we please. He shall yet find me all that you think 
me — aye, and more, too. It is to win him back that I 
have come hither. When he cast me off, I was a child ; 
I had little education ; nothing, nothing but the fair 
outside semblance that fascinated him, and the passion- 
ate heart that found in him its ideal. I thought he 

loved me, and I Well, those days have long since 

passed away, and I will not refer to them ; but I have 
bided my time ; I have gained the culture he taunted 
me with not possessing. I have given up my life to 
one idea — all that I am I have made myself, that in 
time I might bring retribution to the man that so bit- 
terly wronged me. I tell you this that you may cease 
to hope for a return to the love you have offered me.” 

“ But of what nature is this retribution ? I do not 
see what you can do.” 

Again her mocking laugh rang out : 

“I do not mind telling you, in this last confidential 
interview we shall probably ever hold with each other, 
for we shall soon part, and go on our different ways. I 
shall again find the man that cast me off ; make him adore 
me ; win back all the love he once professed for me, 
and then — then I will measure back the bitterness he 
has poured into my life, drop by drop, till it poisons 
every spring of joy or happiness in his nature. Only 
thus can I cancel the measure of my wrongs.” 


THE AVENGER ON THE TRACK. 361 


Orme looked into her face and shuddered, but still 
it was beautiful and attractive to him, though the spirit 
of a baffled tigress seemed suddenly kindled into life, 
gleaming in her hazel orbs, quivering in her mobile lips. 
He gently said : 

“It would be better for your happiness to accept 
what I can give j^ou, than to pursue so bitter a purpose 
as that. But I can urge you no further, Madame 
L’Epine. In the future, I hope that* you will find no 
cause to regret the course you seem determined to 
pursue.” 

“ If I do, no one shall ever know it. Sufficient to 
myself will I still be. You understand now why I can 
be nothing to you, Mr. Orme, and when we part, I 
hope that you will make no effort to trace my steps. 
The name I bear is a travestie of the one to which I 
am entitled : that has not passed my lips for years, but 
I did not relinquish my right to bear it in some shape, 
though my husband repudiated the tie that bound him 
to me.” 

An expression of startled amazement came into the 
face of Orme, and he bent forward and peered into 
the face of Claire. With repressed excitement he ex- 
claimed : 

“ My God ! can it be so ? Have I known you so 
long and so well without recognizing in you the divorc- 
ed wife of Walter Thorne ? I see it all now — you have 
but translated his name into another language, yet dul- 
lard that I have been, the similarity never struck me 
before. You are Claire Lapierre, and if I could atone 
for the wrong I helped to consummate against you, a 
heavy load would be lifted from my conscience.” 

His agitation was extreme, and every shade of his 


362 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


rubicund complexion faded into a dull pallor. Claire 
regarded liim with extreme surprise, mingled with 
annoyance. She haughtily said : 

“ I will not deny my identity, but I had hoped to 
maintain my incognita till I revealed myself in my own 
time, to those I wish to know me. I shall be glad to 
understand the meaning of your words, Mr. Orme, for 
what connection you oan have had with my past life is 
a mystery to me. 1 ’ 

“ It would not have been had I borne the name that 
was mine in my youth. I married Catherine Orme, 
and by the will of her father, I assumed her name when 
we took possession of his estate. My own is Robert 
Wingate, and you may remember when and where you 
have seen that name written at the close of a letter 
sent to Thorne to show to your father. I can only say, 
in my own defence, that if I had suspected that Walter 
meant to act unfairly by you, I would never have lent 
my aid to him in so questionable a manner. But he 
had served me in many ways, and I was willing to 
help him to evade the tyranny of his father. Besides, 
I was a little in love with the girl the old man made 
him marry after he gave you up. I tried to aid you in 
that shameful suit for divorce, but the power of Colonel 
Thorne rendered all my efforts abortive. Ada Digby 
may have told you of the struggle I made in your be- 
half, for I felt as if guilty of a portion of the wrong 
that had been done to you, and since the day the ver- 
dict was given, I have held no intercourse with 
Walter.” 

He spoke rapidly as if afraid that his courage might 
fail him if he did not make his confession at once. 

There was a flash from the dark eyes of the listener, 


THE AVENGER ON THE TRACK. 363 


and for an instant she withdrew from his side ; but 
after a pause for reflection, she returned to her former 
position, and earnestly said : 

“ I remember all that you refer to, and the attempt 
to serve me when I so sorely needed a friend, gives 
you a claim to my forgiveness for the previous wrong. 
Yet you owe me reparation, Mr. Orme, and it is in 
your power to aid me to obtain the retribution I have 
vowed to bring home to your former friend.” 

“ In what way ? I will prove the sincerity of my 
repentance by doing anything that is reasonable ; that 
a gentleman may do. I owe Thorne some return, also, 
for marrying the girl I believe I could have made 
happy, and treating her afterward with most shame- 
less and heartless neglect.” 

“ Then we can come to an understanding, but not 
here. At the hotel where we can converse in private, 
I will unfold to you the service I require at your 
hands.” 

He bowed, and after a pause, said : 

“ I understand all now, and I shall no longer perse- 
cute you with professions of attachment. I hoped in 
you to find a cherished mistress for my desolate home ; 
a guide and companion for my two motherless daugh- 
ters ; but now I see plainly that it is impossible.” 

“Ia stepmother !* Heaven forbid ! — at least to your 
children, for I wish them a better fate.” 

“ Yet, if I understand you, you intend to renew 
your former relations with Thorne, after winning him 
anew, and you must be aware that he has a daughter.” 

“ I knew it, certainly, but I have thought of her 
scarcely at all. What part she will play in the drama 
I intend to enact is of little importance. I may make 


364 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


use of her, if I can set her in opposition to her father ; 
if I cannot do that, I shall set myself against both, 
and triumph over them. Can you tell me anything of 
this young girl ? ” 

“ Very little. She has lived at Thornhill in seclu- 
sion with her invalid mother. I only know that her 
father has little affection for her, and he is not a man 
to care much for the happiness of those dependent 
upon him.” 

“ So much the better ; I shall easily induce her to 
take sides with me.” 

“ But what do you propose to do, madame ? ” 

“Wait and see: and, above all, preserve the secret 
of my identity. I shall unveil to you a part of my pro- 
gramme this evening — the rest, time will develop. I 
have waited seventeen years for the death of my rival, 
and now that fate has placed in my hands the power 
to act, I shall wring from that false man’s heart such 
atonement as my wrongs deserve. Have no fears for 
his life — I do not strike at that, for I would have him 
live to suffer as I have suffered.” 

“ Of course, your secret is safe with me ; but you 
are undertaking that which will end in wretchedness 
to yourself, as to your victim. Thorne may merit all 
that you can inflict on him, but you will sacrifice much 
in obtaining your vengeance. I shall see you safe to 
your hotel ; that is, if you insist on going to one in 
place of accepting my sister’s invitation to spend a few 
weeks with her.” 

“ I thank Mrs. Stanly very much for her wish to 
retain me with her a little while, but I have very 
urgent reasons for declining to remain in the city 
longer than is absolutely necessary. My destiny calls 


THE AVENGER ON THE TRACK. 865 


me elsewhere, and I must follow its beckoning finger, 
even if it leads me to wretchedness and repentance.” 

Her voice softened a little, and Orme hastened to 
say : 

“ If you would only stay among us a few weeks, you 
might be induced to take a different view of your posi- 
tion. Such a woman as you should not throw away 
her fairest chances in life to follow up a chimera. 
After what you have said it seems madness in me to 
wish to marry you, but I do — I do most ardently. I 
would take you to my heart of hearts, and use every 
device known to the tenderest affection to make you 
forget the dream that you have nourished till it has 
overshadowed your true, womanly heart, and caused 
evil to spring up in your nature that is not native to 
it.” 

Claire drearily shook her head. 

“It would be the worst mistake you ever made. 
One that would seal your own wretchedness, for 1 can 
make no home happy. In society, you have seen me 
gay, brilliant, charming, perhaps ; but in the seclusion 
of home it is far different. There I am sad, brooding, 
dreaming ever of the task I have sworn to accomplish — 
which has lain as an incubus upon my life for seven- 
teen long years.” 

“ Your decision is irrevocable, then ? ” 

“ Yes — happily for you, it is. I shall be glad to 
have your escort to the St. Nicholas, and I will then 
show you in what way you can serve me. But when 
we part there you must seek me no more. Such busi- 
ness as we may hereafter have with each other can be 
settled by letter.” 

Orme bowed, and his sister, a stylish-looking woman, 


366 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


still young and handsome, came up to them, followed 
by her two children, a boy and girl, of six and eight 
years of age, who were much attached to Claire. 

Claire stooped and kissed the little girl on her pout- 
ing lips. The boy put up his mouth for a similar 
caress, which was promptly given, and, with a hysteri- 
cal laugh, she said : 

“ I wonder why I love children so much. It is the 
one soft spot left in my heart, and these little ones 
have found the warmest place there. I shall miss my 
pets very sorely, but I must submit to give them up, as 
I have submitted to so many other things that were 
hard to bear. Aunty cannot go with you my dears, 
but she is sorry to part from you, perhaps forever.” 

“ What for ? ” asked the girl. Mamma wants you 
to stay with her, and so does Uncle Robert too, I 
know,” and she clung fondly to the hand she had 
taken. 

Mr. Orme saw that Claire was distressed, and he 
drew the child away. The scene was ended by the 
approach of the ship to the pier, and a sudden rush of 
the passengers toward the landward side. 

Half an hour later their adieux had been said, and 
two carriages were moving out of the crowd of vehi- 
cles near the place of landing. In one of them was 
Mrs. Stanly and her children, with their nurse on their 
way to their elegant residence on Madison Square ; in 
the other was Claire and Mr. Orme. 

He had wisely determined to say nothing more to 
her on the subject of his love, but when he looked 
on her enchanting face, listened to the music of her 
voice, and thought it might be for the last time, his 
resolution suddenly failed him. He took her hand 
and passionately said : 


THE AVENGER ON THE TRACK. 367 


“ Claire, be mine — I entreat, I implore that you will 
not sacrifice yourself to an idea of vengeance on a man 
who is unworthy to inspire you with any emotion save 
contempt. I will gain from Rome itself freedom from 
the imaginary shackles that bind you to him. Can you 
not see that in pursuing the course you have marked 
out for yourself you will seal your own misery in 
this world — your condemnation in the next? To 
accomplish what you propose to yourself, you must 
harden your own heart, stifle every tender and gene- 
rous feeling, and become what I shrink from thinking 
of. Oh ! for God’s sake, if not for mine, or for your 
own, think of what you may become, and recoil from 
the future evils you are ready to embrace.” 

She coldly withdrew her hand and defiantly said : 

“ If life is granted me, I will walk on the course I 
have marked out for myself, and nothing shall turn me 
from it. I have waited years for the opportunity, and 
now, when every obstacle is cleared from my path, I 
will not shrink from what I have so long contemplated. 
If I loved you, Mr. Orme, my answer would still be 
the same ; but, thank heaven ! my heart is dead to that 
passion. It cherishes but one ardent desire — what that 
is you already know.” 

“ Then your decision is irrevocable ? ” 

“ As irrevocable as the laws that govern nature. 
Assuredly as the sun will rise to-morrow, so surely will 
I do what I have set my heart on. Say no more, I 
entreat — nay, I command, for you are talking of love 
to a woman who believes that she is bound by ties that 
nothing save death may dissolve. The church cannot 
loose the bonds that were forged in the name of one 
infinitely higher than the Pope.” 


8G8 


THE DISCAKDED WIFE. 


“ Tell me one thing, Claire — Do you love this . man 
to whom you are ready to surrender the control of your 
life ? Unless you do, I cannot understand whjr you so 
persistently have held to your heart the hope of a 
reunion with him.” 

“ Love him!” she scornfully repeated. “Do you 
know so little of the human heart as to ask me that ? 
Words could never convey to you an idea of the depths 
of contempt into which he has fallen in my estimation. 
If I loved him, I would shun him as a pestilence, but 
feeling as I do toward Walter Thorne, I shall become 
the minister of dire retribution to him. Do not tell 
me that I shall become hard and harsh and cold in 
doing this. I am all that now, and his baseness, his 
cruelty have made me what I am. I am unfit to ac- 
cept the offering of your love, for in spite of your 
faults you have much that is noble and true in your 
nature, and you are far too good a man to be victimized 
by me. Go on your way, Robert Orme, and thank 
your good angel that Claire L’Epine refuses to accept 
the heart and home you offer her.” 

She turned from him, folded her veil over her face, 
and he felt that further remonstrance would be useless. 
After a pause that was very painful to Orme, he said : 

“ Since you deny me a near and dear interest in your 
fate, will you make clear to me in what way I shall be 
called on to assist your plans ? ” 

“ It is as well, or better perhaps, to do that before 
we reach the hotel,” she wearily replied. “ I hold a 
bond for a very large sum against Walter Thorne. I 
wish to transfer it to you that you may demand its 
payment, but not until I write and tell you when to 
act.” 


THE AVENGER ON THE TRACK. 369 


“ But to what purpose ? If you intend to marry 
him again you surely will not wish his fortune to be 
injured.” 

“ I shall be re-united to him — I will give him one 
month of devotion such as he lavished on me in our 
first union ; and then — I will leave him to feel all the 
anguish of being forsaken by one he trusts. I will 
have his wealth taken from him, and for a season per- 
mit him to taste the poverty to which he left me when 
he cast me off. It was not his fault that I did not 
suffer for the means of living. His father offered me 
an annuity, which I rejected, but I never heard that 
Walter made any attempt to provide in any way for 
me. I should have accepted nothing from him, it is 
true, but that does not lessen my resentment that I 
was cared so little for as to leave me dependent on 
others, without an effort on his part to induce me to 
take from him enough to lift me above want. I went 
to France with my godmother, was educated at her 
expense, and afterward was taken under the protection 
of my half-brother, of whom you already know some- 
thing.” 

“But if I consent to act as your agent, what use 
will you make of this money, and how came the bond 
in your possession ? ” 

“ As a matter of justice, I shall provide for Walter 
Thorne’s daughter out of the sum you will receive, 
for a gambler is not likely to have much to bestow on 
those he should care for. The money was lost at the 
gaming table, and the son of my godmother was the 
winner. Andrew Courtnay rarely plays, but he did so 
when he met my false husband, that he might place in 
my hands a weapon to be used against him. I have 
23 


3T0 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


held it for more than three years, and it would never 
have been used if his last wife had lived. Her death 
placed him at my mercy, and I intend to use the power 
that is in my hands. I shall not utterly impoverish 
him — let that assurance suffice. When we reach the 
hotel I will give you the bond, with such directions 
as are necessary.” 

Orme rather reluctantly said: 

“Since I have given you my promise, I will not 
draw back ; but it seems to me that you are preparing 
too heavy a blow for Thorne, shamefulty as he treated 
you. His father was a remorseless old tyrant, and but 
for the power he wielded over Walter through his 
dependence upon him, I believe he would have been 
true to you.” 

“ It is too late to discuss that now — as he has sowed, 
he shall reap — that is the immutable law. You are 
bound to do me this service, for had it not been for 
the assistance you gave him to deceive my friends, I 
should never have been his wife. I demand from you 
such reparation as it is in your power to afford. Grant 
it without further remonstrance, for my course is irrev- 
ocably determined on.” 

Orme earnestly said : 

“ If you knew how bitterly I have repented of that 
act — how anxiously I have desired to atone for it, 
you would see how impossible it is to me to refuse 
any request you may make of me, however unreason- 
able it may seem. You are avenged, Claire, for Hove 
you, and I must aid you to accomplish your own 
wretchedness.” 

The tones of his voice expressed even more than his 
words, but she calmly said : 


THE AVENGER ON THE TRACK. 371 


“ I thank you for your willingness to serve me in my 
own way. Seek a better woman than I am to make 
happy with the gift of your affections. When I am 
no longer near you, you will learn to forget me, for 
absence always conquers love. ,, 

As she ceased speaking, the carriage drew up at the 
private entrance to the St. Nicholas. In silence, Orme 
assisted Claire to alight, conducted her up stairs, and 
then went to secure an apartment for her. He soon 
returned, followed by a chambermaid, bearing the key 
of the room — which was across the corridor from the 
private parlor into which Claire had been shown. A 
porter brought up her baggage, and she said to her 
companion : 

“ Wait here a few moments, if you please, and I will 
bring you what I spoke of.” 

He bowed : and she went with the girl to her room. 
She unlocked her trunk, took from it a portfolio, and 
drew from one of its pockets the bond. An inkstand 
with a pen in it was upon the table, and she sat down, 
and wrote upon it the transfer to Robert Orme. By 
this time the servants had gone away, and closing the 
door of the room, she went back to the one in which 
she had left Orme. He was standing by a window 
looking down on Broadway, with a clouded and anxious 
expression. 

As Claire came in he went forward to meet her — 
and they sat together on a sofa, earnestly talking, for 
several moments. With visible reluctance, Orme ac- 
cepted the bond, and as he put it in his pocket-book, 
he said : 

“ Thorne will execrate me as the agent of his ruin, 
though he will recognise you as its author, for in your 
name is the transfer made.” 


372 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ He need know nothing beyond the fact that the 
obligation has passed into your hands. It is a debt of 
honor , and as such Walter Thorne will not repudiate it. 
Men have curious ideas on such subjects, and that 
money will be paid if the most dishonorable expedients 
are to be resorted to, to raise it without utter ruin to 
himself. I believe you now understand fully my wishes 
with reference to this long delayed settlement.” 

“ Yes ; I perfectly comprehend them, and I will 
carry them out to the best of my ability. I will have 
the money deposited in the bank of Philadelphia to 
your credit, and after that I wash my hands of the 
whole affair.” 

“ Certainly ; beyond that service I have no claim on 
you, but I shall always remember it with gratitude. 
We must part now ; I shall remain in New York but a 
few hours, and I need not further trouble you. I can 
make my own arrangements for leaving, if you will 
send up the clerk to me as you pass through the office. 
Accept my thanks for your attentions thus far, and 
assure Mrs. Stanly that I shall always remember her 
with grateful affection.” 

“Is that all? Will you give me no clue to the 
route you intend to pursue ? to the steps you intend to 
take to renew your old influence over the man you are 
bent on bringing to ruin and despair? ” 

“ I can do neither, and it is a waste of sympathy to 
bestow it on him who wrecked my life and made the 
woman he put in my place scarcely less wretched than 
he rendered me. I met her once ; I pledged my word 
to her then to avenge us both, and I shall certainly do 
it. Our parting here, is final, and it is better for you 
that it shall be so. Adieu, Mr. Orme ; I trust to your 


THE AVENGER ON THE TRACK. 373 

honor and that of your sister, to keep my secret, and 
to make no attempt to follow me in the devious path it 
may be necessary for me to pursue.” 

She arose and offered him her hand ; he raised it to 
his lips, fixed one long and earnest glance upon her 
lovely face, and without uttering another word, left the 
room. 

In a few moments the clerk came up, and Claire 
informed him that she wished to go on the night train 
to a small town in New Jersey, where she knew Ada 
Digby was to be found. As she had no company, she 
requested him to make the necessary arrangements for 
her departure ; he courteously assured her that every- 
thing should be attended to, and a carriage be in wait- 
ing in time to convey her to the train. 

She then sat beside the window looking out on the 
crowd of hurrying pedestrians below, wondering if 
among them all was one more desolate, more hopeless 
than herself. She pitied herself, she blamed herself, 
yet she clung with strange pertinacity to the one idea 
which had animated her life through so many years. 

That night she went on her way to the little sea- 
coast village in which Miss Digby’s last letter had told 
her she was to be found. She stopped at a station on 
the way, and hired a carriage to take her to Seaview, 
as the cottage was called. 


874 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

OLD FRIENDS. 

I T was a bright and beautiful day in June when 
Claire reached her place of destination : a romantic 
cottage situated about half a mile from a straggling lit- 
tle village lying on the sea shore. The low-roofed 
house was embowered in trees and covered with trail- 
ing vines, but its front windows commanded a fine 
view of the ocean. A large yard in front was filled 
with shrubbery, and flowers bloomed in profusion on 
every side. 

Claire alighted at the gate and moved up the wind- 
ing walk, wondering if the letter she had written to 
Miss Digby before leaving Paris had yet reached her. 
The place looked solitary and unoccupied, and she 
began to fear that its temporary mistress might already 
have left it. 

Her doubts were set at rest by the sudden opening 
of the door and the appearance of a lady upon its 
threshold. Her figure was tall and commanding, her 
features clearly cut and regular, and there was an air 
of decision about her which showed that she thought 
and acted for herself. Her dress was perfectly plain 
and fitted accurately to her erect figure, and the dark 
hair that lay in smooth bands beneath her plain lace 
cap was slightly threaded with silver. The expression 
of calm repose, mingled with sweetness, which char- 
acterized her face, inspired confidence and affection in 
all who were thrown in contact with Ada Digby, for 
she it was who glanced with some surprise at the 
figure advancing with quick steps to greet her. 


OLD FRIENDS. 375 

She came forward a few paces, and in her pleas- 
antly modulated voice said : 

“ I thought I heard a carriage stop at the gate, and 
I came out in the hope that it brought a dear friend to 
my arms. But man is born to disappointment, and of 
course woman too in a much greater degree. Since 
you are not the friend I expected, I hope that you 
bring me some news of her, Madam, and if you do you 
shall be most welcome to Seaview cottage.” 

“ I hope that I bring my own welcome with me, 
Ada. I do believe that you have forgotten me, though 
I should have known you anywhere, or under any guise. 
You have scarcely changed at all, but from your looks 
I must have undergone a complete metamorphosis.” 

In another moment Claire was clasped to the heart 
of her friend, who kissed her many times and then 
held her at arm’s length and gazed in her face, exclaim- 
ing: 

“ How could I know you, Claire ! You left me a 
broken-hearted child, and you come back to me a beau- 
tiful and fully developed woman. The years that 
have brought you only to perfection have whitened my 
hair and faded my cheeks, while to you they have giv- 
en all that is most precious to women.” 

“Not Ada ; there are things more precious than 
charms of person, which I have failed to attain. They 
were your heritage, and they are better worth possess- 
ing than the poor ephemeral beauty of which you seem 
to think so much. You may have grown a little older, 
but you still look good and true as in those days in 
which you took to your heart the forlorn stranger who 
had no friend to stand by her but yourself. Ah ! sister 
of my soul, what would have become of me in that 


376 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


dreary time but for your sustaining kindness ? I shud- 
der to recall that past, yet I have come hither to live 
it over again ; to renew the struggle ; but this time to 
come off conqueror.” 

Miss Digby looked searchingly at her, and drawing 
her forward, said : 

“ Let us go in, and when you are rested and refresh- 
ed, we will talk over those days. Oh, Claire ! it makes 
me young again to see you standing fresh and fair 
before me as if time had stood still for you, or only 
lavished on you greater charms. You were a pretty and 
attractive girl, but now you stand before me a bewil- 
deringly beautiful woman ; you have come hither to 
make that beauty a snare and a curse to him who once 
trampled you in the dust and mire of his own selfish- 
ness. Yet, dear Claire, success will be fatal to you. 
It will be worse than death to place yourself in the 
power of that hard and reckless man. I have your 
last letter, and I am ready to do anything to prevent 
you from consummating the sacrifice you meditate.” 

“ It would be a greater sacrifice to give up the object 
of my life,” was the quiet reply. “ But we will talk 
of this later. Just now I can think of nothing but the 
joy of being with you once more — of hearing the ring 
of your true voice.” 

“ Thank you, my dear, and pardon me for referring 
to your private affairs in the first moment of meeting ; 
but your letter only came to me yesterday, and since it 
was read I have thought of little else than you and 
your strange purpose in coming back to your native 
land. Let us go in and make ourselves comfortable. 
I will send my servant to bring in your baggage.” 

They entered a wide hall from which doors opened 


OLD FRIENDS. 


377 


on either hand, and Miss Digby threw back one which 
gave into a large room with two deeply embayed win 
dows looking toward the sea. This was fitted up as a 
sitting-room and library ; but Claire noticed that one 
of the cases which had been intended for books was 
filled with botles of medicine, among which were found 
a few standard works on the science of which Miss 
Digby was so fond. In the centre of the floor was a 
round table, on which was an open writing-desk and a 
basket of needle-work. 

The soft summer air, laden with the perfume of flow- 
ers, was wafted through the room, and after taking 
off her bonnet and shawl, Claire sunk into the large 
chair her friend drew forward for her, and with a smile 
said : 

“ The arrangement of this room is perfectly charac- 
teristic. I remember your old passion for botanical 
studies and for practising medicine. Since you removed 
to this place I suppose you have become the liberal 
dispenser of your life-giving elixir, as you were in 
L ” 

Miss Digby laughed : 

“ I have done what I could for those who are too 
poor to employ a regular physician ; and I do not think 
that I have ever killed any one yet. My preparations 
are simple and mostly made by myself, for I have fitted 
up a small laboratory and become quite a dabbler in 
chemistry.” 

“ All ! if you could only have known my brother, 
Ada. He and you would have been congenial spirits, 
and your strong practical sense would have counter- 
acted the mania to which he fell a victim. I wrote to 
you of the delusion which absorbed his fortune, and 
finally cost him his life.” 


378 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“Yes — it was a sad history, and one in which I 
deeply sympathized — but in place of correcting his 
fantasy, I might have fallen into it myself, for at times 
nothing seems impossible to the chemical enthusiast. 
Luckily for me, new cares have been thrust upon me, 
and the time I once devoted to my studies and experi- 
ments has been almost absorbed by the charge I have 
undertaken. I wrote to you that I have two young 
girls living with me, the daughters of an old friend. 
One of them is an invalid, and it was for her benefit 
that I came to this cottage by the sea.” 

“ I remember — you did not tell me who they are, 
but your reticence led me to guess it. They came 
from New Orleans, you said, and you once told me of a 
friend you had there who had, in your youth, been 
dearer to you than a brother. Are they not Mr. 
Balfour’s children, Ada? I hope their father is not 
dead.’ * 

A faint flush came into the cheek of Miss Digby, 
but her eyes brightened as she said in a subdued tone : 

“ No — George is not dead, though he has borne 
grievous afflictions. The history of his family is one 
of those tragedies that are enacted sometimes in New 
Orleans during the prevalence of the yellow fever. It 
is two years this summer since it raged there as an 
epidemic. Mr. Balfour was compelled to leave his 
home on important business in the early part of the 
season ; at the time of his departure little apprehension 
was felt, for the city had been free from the ravages of 
the pestilence for several years. It broke out within 
two weeks after he left his home, with great violence. 
Mrs. Balfour was one of the first to be struck down 
with it ; it is a harrowing story, Claire, and I will make 
it as brief as possible. 


OLD FRIENDS. 


8T9 


4 When poor George heard at Louisville of the sick- 
ness in New Orleans, he hurried home as fast as steam 
could take him, but when he reached it he found his 
house closed, his wife dead and four of his six children 
sleeping beside her in the cemetery. The second and 
youngest daughters still survived, and they had been 
removed from the infected atmosphere and taken to 
Carrolton by a friend. He found them there, the elder 
half broken-hearted at the losses she had sustained, 
and the younger too ill with the fever to know or care 
for anything. 

“ Mr. Balfour’s anxiety to save the two darlings left 
to him, sustained him under this awful bereavement, 
and as soon as Louise was strong enough to bear 
removal, he returned to Louisville, and took boarding 
for himself and children at a farm house a few miles 
from the city, where he hoped the pure air would 
restore the strength of the little girl. 

“But the disease left behind it such effects that the 
physicians declared that sea bathing alone could be of 
any permanent benefit. He then wrote to me, and 
appealed to my benevolence to receive his motherless 
children, and to do for them what the claims of his 
business would not allow him to do. 

“ Of course, I consented, for George has never 
forfeited his right to be considered by me ; we were 
both victimized by a hard, and selfish man, and I 
scarcely blamed him for the course he pursued when 
he thought that I had been false to all the pledges I 
had given him. Alice and Louise came to me, and I 
used all my skill as a nurse to restore the little one. 
Mr. Balfour purchased this place, and I removed to it, 
in the hope that the sea air and bathing would renovate 


380 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


her health; she has improved much, but she is still 
delicate, and requires constant care.” 

“ It is a sad story indeed, but I hope that good to 
one I love will result from it. I can easily understand 
that the charge you have undertaken is no burden to 
you, for your active mind must have employment, and 
your benevolence leads you to expend your energies in 
the service of others.” 

“ Don’t flatter me, Claire ; you know of old that I 
hate the semblance of it. I will leave you now to 
make yourself comfortable, while I order a cup of tea, 
and something nice for you after your long drive.” 

Claire detained her by laying her hand on her arm. 
“ I have breakfasted, Ada ; I had a cup of coffee, and 
some bread and butter at the station at which I got off. 
I could not eat just now, even if a Lucullian feast were 
spread before me. Indeed I need nothing but your 
pleasant face and dear voice to cheer me up a little.” 

Miss Digby sat down beside her, saying : — 

“ Then you shall have them, my dear, and I must 
say that the sight of your fair face is welcome to me as 
the morning sunshine. I scarcely anticipated seeing 
you so soon, for, as I told you, your letter from Paris 
announcing your intended return, only reached me 
yesterday. Oh, Claire ! have you well weighed the 
purpose hinted at in that letter ? Do you comprehend 
what you have traveled all this distance to face ? ” 

Claire lifted her eyes to the questioning ones bent 
upon her, and steadfastly replied : 

“ I have weighed everything, and I would sooner 
relinquish life itself than give up the fulfillment of that 
long cherished dream. I have waited long for the 
death of the woman who stood in my way, and when 


OLD FRIENDS. 


881 


I saw it announced in an American newspaper which 
reached my hand by chance, I knew that fate pointed 
out to me the path I must pursue, and my resolution 
was at once taken. I crossed the Atlantic with a ma- 
tured purpose, and I am here to accomplish it.” 

“ But Claire, when I tell you all that unfortunate 
wife of Walter Thorne suffered at his hands, you will 
shrink from taking the position from which death has 
released her. He treated her badly almost from the 
first day of their marriage. He accepted her at the 
dictation of his father, and he was not generous enough 
to conceal that fact from her. The life he and Agnes 
lived stogether was terrible, for Mrs. Thorne was 
spirited, and resentful, and nothing kept her with him 
but the daughter that was born the first year of their 
marriage. Walter threatened to take the child from 
her if she left him, and she staid to have her heart 
broken, and her temper embittered, by the harsh 
indifference he manifested not only toward her, but 
toward his daughter.” 

The listener shivered, and grew perceptibly paler, 
but she replied : 

“ I shall avenge her. He never loved her — he did 
love me. I know that, although he was base enough 
to give me up as he did. I shall rekindle that passion 
— give it sweetest food for a brief season, and then 
return to his lips the bitter cup of which he made me 
drink.” 

“ Claire, this is madness. As you value your peace 
do not seek Walter. Remain with me for a season, 
and then go back to the land in which you have so 
long dwelt as happy as it is permitted the most of us 
to be. Bury in oblivion the memories connected with 
your native land ; it will be best — indeed it will.” 


382 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Claire arose, and lifting her graceful form to its 
utmost height, impressively said : 

“ I will risk everything to regain the position from 
which I was so ignominiously thrust — to obtain the 
power to torture him in his turn. Walter Thorne 
adored me once when I was far less attractive than I 
know I now am, and he shall come back to me with 
more than the old love. He shall become my slave, 
and then I will repay him not only for my own wrongs, 
but for what that unfortunate woman suffered at his 
hands.’ , 

The concentrated force and bitterness with which 
the last words were pronounced made her friend shiver. 
She earnestly said : 

“ Claire, you will lose yourself in this world, and 
the one to come, if you carry out your schemes. If 
you succeed you will be wretched, for no woman can 
be happy in such a destiny as you are hastening to em- 
brace.” 

“ Happy ! No — I never dreamed of such an impos- 
sibility as that ; but it matters not. I shall regain the 
position that of right belongs to me ; I shall force him 
to acknowledge before the world the wife he divorced, 
and whose good name he suffered to be vilified that 
the end might be attained. You spoke of his daughter 
— tell me of her, for I wish to know something of her.” 

“ For the last few years I have seen little of May, 
for Walter thought I took sides with his wife, and he 
brusquely told me that my room was better than my 
company. It is now three years since I was at Thorn- 
hill, and May was not allowed to come to me. She 
was then a pretty, pleasing-looking girl of thirteen ; 
she had enjoyed few of the pleasures of childhood or 


OLD FRIENDS. 


383 


youth, for she has been immured in the solitary 
country house in which she was born. She was educa- 
ted at home, chiefly by her mother, who found the 
only consolation for her unhappy marriage in the de- 
votion she gave to and received from her daughter. 
At that early age she was shy and reticent, but I think 
she has inherited a strong will and a spice of the per- 
verseness of both her parents. But under proper 
training, I believe she would mature into a noble and 
reliable woman.” 

Claire’s lip curled as she cynically said : 

“ So my step-daughter is likely to prove a thorn in 
my side, too. No matter — I shall go on my path all 
the same, and find means to make her my friend by 
giving her some of the enjoyments of which she has so 
long been deprived. If she is pretty, so much the bet- 
ter ; her mother’s fortune, if it is secured to her, will 
make her rich enough, and I shall find some one to 
marry her before very long.” 

Miss Digby silently regarded her for several mo- 
ments ; she then impressively said : 

“ If you place May’s destiny in the hands of a good 
man, it may be well enough to remove her from her 
father’s house, for she has never been happy in it. I 
believe that you would never consent to give this poor 
girl to one that is not worthy of her, Claire ? ” 

“ Yes — you may trust me that far. But after all, 
Miss Thorne will make her own choice, and I must 
not be held responsible for the result. All I can do is 
to take care that she shall have the opportunity to 
select a suitable husband for herself, and for that I 
think she should be grateful.” 

Again there was a long pause, which was broken by 
Miss Digby : 


384 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ But how do you propose to gain access to Walter ? 
He lives in solitude at Thornhill for months at a time, 
and then he rushes into a vortex of dissipation as reck- 
less as his seclusion has been severe.” 

“ I have not yet decided on the means, but they will 
be found. I thought at first of seeking the posi- 
tion of governess to his daughter, for of course she 
cannot be left without a lady to take charge of her ; 
but the vow I made to myself long ago stood in the 
way of that. I will never erfter that house again till I 
do so in triumph as the acknowledged wife of Walter 
Thorne. Gan you tell me of his whereabouts now ? ” 

“ I fancy that would be difficult to do, for he wan- 
ders from one scene of gayety to another, and he has 
been absent from Thornhill for several months. Dr. 
Brandon writes to me occasionally, and tells me all 
that he thinks will interest me. You remember him 
as the physician who attended you when you were ill 
at my house ? ” 

“ Yes — I have a faint recollection of him. What 
disposition does Mr. Thorne make of his daughter 
during his absence ? ” 

“ You will scarcely believe me when I tell you that 
he is hard enough to shut her up at Thornhill, and not 
allow her to see any one but the servants. Except on 
Sundays, she is not permitted to go beyond the 
grounds ; then she goes to church, accompanied by the 
housekeeper, an ignorant and pretentious woman, en- 
tirely unfit to be May’s companion.” 

Claire triumphantly said : 

“ Then I shall find an ally and not an enemy in my 
step-daughter. For her sake, Ada, you should aid me 
to regain my true position at Thornhill. I will take 


OLD FRIENDS. 


885 


this poor girl under my protection, and at least try to 
make her happier than her father seems to care to do.” 

“ I see that you will have } T our own way, Claire, 
cost what it may to yourself. I have warned you of 
what you may expect, but if you do win back your 
recreant husband, I trust that you will try to make 
him a better man, in place of embittering him still 
further. I believe that I can trust to your good in- 
stincts to act a conscientious part by both father and 
daughter.” 

Claire faintly smiled — she ambiguously replied : 

“ You may trust me to do justice to them both, Ada. 
More than that no one has the right to expect. I am 
interested in that lovely and neglected daughter, and I 
shall at least endeavor to promote her happiness.” 

Voices were heard beneath the windows, and the 
face of Miss Digby brightened as she said : 

“ My young people have come back from the beach. 
They usually take a long walk every morning, accom- 
panied by a large Newfoundland dog as their protector. 
Louise has improved wonderfully since we came to 
this place ; and by the time her father arrives, I hope 
to present her to him with restored health.” 

“ I love children, and I shall be glad to make the 
acquaintance of those in whom you are so deeply in- 
terested.” 

“ One of them is no longer a child — Alice is nearly 
seventeen, and Louise is four years younger. They 
are dear, affectionate companions for me, and give an 
interest to my life which it has long lacked.” 

A tall, slender young girl, with delicate features 
and pale brown hair, entered the apartment, followed 
by a dark, sallow child, with large dark eyes, and hair 
24 


386 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


of the same color, which hung in short spiral curls 
around her head. There was no resemblance between 
the sisters, and Claire quickly made up her mind that 
Alice resembled her Northern father, and Louise her 
Southern mother. 

They hesitated a moment when they saw a stranger, 
but at the bidding of Miss Digby came forward with- 
out any appearance of shyness and were presented to 
her. 

“ My dear Alice,” she went on, this is Madame 
L’Epine, of whom you have often heard me speak. 
She is just from Paris, and you and Louise can chatter 
to her in French as much as you please. I am sure 
you will soon like and take an interest in each other.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said Claire. “ I know that we shall 
be the best of friends.” 

The dog, a magnificent specimen of his kind, came 
bounding in, and pranced around the chair of the new- 
comer with the air of bidding her welcome. He then 
paused in front of her, looked into her eyes with al- 
most human intelligence, and crouched at her feet as 
if satisfied with his survey. 

Louise placed her hand confidingly in that of Claire, 
and in a low, musical voice said : 

“ I know I shall like you, for I can always trust to 
Fidele. He never comes near any one, to fawn on 
them, if they are not good and true.” 

“ Your dog’s instinct must be superior then to the 
judgment of men, for they often find it very difficult 
to decide that question, my dear.” 

“ If Fidele had to judge of another dog, perhaps he 
might make a mistake too,” replied the child, gravely ; 
“ but he never is wrong in his choice of friends among 


OLD FRIENDS. 


387 


the people that come here ; but he does not often take 
to any one as he has to you.” 

“ I am much flattered by his approval I am sure, but 
the name you have given him seems more appropriate 
to a lap-dog than to such a splendid creature as this.” 

The sallow cheeks of Louise flushed ; she said : 

“ He is faithful — then what better name could be 
given to him ? I wanted to give him the name in 
English, but papa liked Fidele best. You don’t know 
yet how well he deserves it. I hate lap-dogs. They 
are little whining nuisances that require as much 
attention as a baby ; but this pet is a great, strong, 
helpful fellow that is ready for any emergency. He 
dragged me out of the surf once when I had got 
beyond my depth, and if it hadn’t been for his presence 
of mind I might have been drowned.” 

Claire laughed at her quaint manner of expressing 
herself. She said : 

“ I cordially agree with you in your opinion of pood- 
les, but this is the first time I ever heard of a dog’s 
presence of mind. That divine gift is supposed to be 
the attribute of man alone, and forms one of the dis- 
tinctions between the human and the brute creation.” 

“ I know, Aunt Ada has explained all those things to 
me ; but I am sure that Fiddle reasons and thinks. 
He understands every word I say to him, and he knows 
that I am praising him now. See how he wags his 
bushy tail and looks up at me with his knowing eyes.” 

The dog here arose and gravely put his paws upon 
the shoulders of the speaker, looking at the same time 
in her face with a grateful tenderness that was almost 
human. 

Claire laughed, and said : 


388 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I am almost a convert to your opinion, Louise, for 
your canine friend seems really to comprehend you. 
Sir Walter Scott and the Ettrick shepherd both tell 
some wonderful things of the sagacity of dogs; and 
their faithful attachment often puts to shame man's 
inconstancy.” 

The young philosopher gravely replied : 

“ Some dogs are as faithless and stupid as some 
people. I should not expect anything of a barking cur 
but that he would snarl at the bone thrown to him, 
and run off to hide and gnaw it alone : mean men are 
like him ; but my dear old Faithful belongs to another 
type of dog, as you and I to a better class of people.” 

“ Thank you, dear ; I shall appropriate the compli- 
ment, whether I deserve it or not.” 

“Come, Louisa,” said Miss Digby, “you and your 
four-footed follower have occupied enough of Claire’s 
attention, for the present. Run off now and tell Sally 
to set luncheon in the dining-room, and let me know 
when it is ready.” 

Louise obeyed, and Fidele stalked after her with 
y stately gravity, as if comprehending that he had been 
dismissed, and a little offended at it. 

“ Did you have a pleasant walk, Alice ? ” inquired 
Miss Digby. 

“ It was delightful when we first went out, but the 
sun became oppressive very soon, and I wished to 
return ; but Louise was gathering sea mosses, and as it 
is only of late that she seems to take much interest in 
any employment, I did not like to bring her home 
before she found some pretty specimens. She left her 
bucket on the lawn, and after lunch I promised to assist 
her to arrange them.” 


OLD FRIENDS. 


389 


“You were quite right, my love, not to take her 
away from a pursuit that she seems to like. The 
inertia produced by her long illness is gradually dis- 
appearing, and a few more months by the sea-side will, 
I hope, entirely restore her natural activity and play- 
fulness.” 

“ I am sure they will, and when papa comes you will 
give him back his little pet quite well and strong. Ah, 
Madame L’Epine, you do not know how much we owe 
to Aunt Ada,” she went on, turning toward Claire. 
“ After those dreadful days of which I cannot bear to 
think, Louise and I were left with no mother — no 
female friend to care for us ; and although papa did 
all he could for us, j^ou may imagine how forlorn we 
were. He feared to take us back to the South, and he 
appealed to this good friend of his, and she has been 
more than a mother to us. I am happier since I came 
to Seaview with Aunt Ada than I ever hoped to be 
aghin.” 

“I do not wonder at that, for Ada has the knack of 
making those around her contented. I only hope she 
will not leave her work half done.” 

Alice looked at her inquiringly, and Miss Digby 
flushed slightly, but she also smiled as she said : 

“ That is not my way, you know. What my hand 
findeth to do, that I set myself to with a will, regard- 
less of the comments of the outside world. But here 
is Sally ready to say that she had anticipated my 
orders.” 

“Yes, ’m, please,” said the neat-looking servant. 
“ I knew the lady had traveled all night, and I set to 
work to get up a nice cup of tea, with ea£-setrys.” 

“ Which we shall devour, of course,” said her mis- 


390 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


tress, good-humoredly. “ Come, Claire, let us adjourn 
to the dining-room and do justice to what my hand- 
maiden has prepared. We do not dine till four o’clock, 
as I have changed my hours for meals to those to 
which my children were accustomed before they came 
to me. I have tried in every way to make them feel 
the change from their Southern home as little as 
possible.” 

“ You have succeeded in making a new home for us 
almost as delightful as the one that was so badly 
broken up,” said Alice, affectionately. “ I believe I 
should say it is quite as happy, if I did not think of 
poor papa, and feel sorry for his loneliness so far away 
from his children. When Louise is restored to health, 
we can go to him ; but then we must leave you alone, 
Aunt Ada, unless you will consent to go with us. 
Don’t you think she will have to live in New Orleans 
yet, Madame L’Epine ? ” 

“ I cannot see any other solution to the difficulty,” 
replied Claire, with a mischievops glance at Miss Digby. 

Alice nodded intelligently, and the four gathered 
around the table, chatting pleasantly, while they par- 
took of the delicacies Sally had provided for them. 
Claire gave them a description of her late voyage, and 
made herself as charming to the little company around 
her as she would have exerted herself to be in the most 
brilliant coterie. 

Louise, after making a dainty repast, sat listening to 
her with charmed ears. She suddenly said : 

“ I never intend to get married — I mean to be free 
to go and do as I choose, as Aunt Ada and Madame 
L’Epine are. I shall travel and see the world, as you 
have, Madame, and afterward, settle down to do good, 
as Aunt Ada does.” 


OLD FRIENDS. 


391 


“ But Madame L’Epine has been married, Louise. 
You seem to forget that,” said Alice. “And maybe 
Aunt Ada will find some one to please her yet. She 
is handsome enough, and good enough, I am sure.” 

“ She is too good for any man, I know, and too 
sensible to take one, even if she liked him a little. I 
don’t want Aunt Ada to care for any one as much as 
she does for you and me.” 

“ So selfishness lies at the foundation of your objec- 
tions, after all,” said her sister ; “ but a child like you 
should not express herself so freely about her elders. 
I know what I hope for, and if you knew how affairs 
stand, you would not speak as you did just now.” 

“Well, how do they stand? I always like to see 
my way clearly before me, Alice.” 

Miss Digby here arose, and said : 

“ My dears, you are both talking of what you do 
not comprehend. I have a weighty matter to consider, 
in which you are both deeply concerned, but you may 
feel assured that I will do what is best for your hap- 
piness. There is a letter for you, Alice, which you 
can take to your own room and read to Louise. I 
thought it best to withhold it till after luncheon.” 

Alice eagerly held out her hand, and on looking at 
the address on the envelope, said : 

“ It is from papa. Come, Louise, let us go at once, 
and see what he says ; he is coming back soon, I know, 
and when he comes, he means to stay.” 

The two girls were soon seated beside a window in 
their own pleasant chamber, which communicated with 
the one occupied by Miss Digby. The two heads bent 
together over the long and tender epistle written by 
their father ; and many exclamations were uttered by 
Alice as she read, but Louise spoke not a single word. 


892 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


When they had finished, the elder one said : 

“ Is it not delightful, Lou, that papa and Aunt Ada 
may make up their old love quarrel, and be married 
yet ? I do hope that she will accept him.” 

“I don't” was the emphatic response. “I love 
them both, but I think it is all nonsense for two old 
people like them to think of getting married. It’s un- 
dignified. Papa has had one wife, and that is enough 
for one man. Aunt Ada is happy as she is, so why 
should she wish to make any change ? ” 

“ You absurd child ! Don’t you see that unless 
Aunt Ada marries papa, she cannot remain with us ? 
If she gives us up, we shall be as forlorn as we were 
in that farm-house in Kentucky. You know how mis- 
erable we were, and how sadly we missed mamma till 
Miss Digby consented to receive us. I am afraid that 
you are very ungrateful, Louise, for she has done more 
for you than most mothers would.” 

“ No, I am not ungrateful, but I am hurt to think 
that papa loved Aunt Ada first, and may be better than 
he loved our own dear mamma. I am jealous for her 
if she is dead, and I don’t like him to console himself 
by going back to the one he may have liked best in 
his heart all the time our poor mother lived. If he 
had not told us about that in this letter, I should not 
have felt so badly about it.” 

“ Now Louise, you are wronging papa most shame- 
fully. You know how good, and tender, he was to 
mamma — you can remember that though you were so 
young ; and I can remember that he never denied her 
the gratification of her most unreasonable wishes. You 
know that mamma was not satisfied if she did not have 
her own way in everything, and pa gave up to her 
always, sooner than see a cloud on her brow.” 


OLD FRIENDS. 


393 


“ Yes — I know all that, and I see now that he gave 
her indulgence, in place of love. It was’nt a fair 
exchange, for she thought there was nobody in the 
world equal to papa.” 

“ Of course she did, and there is nobody better than 
he is. Even if he loved Aunt Ada when he was a 
young man, and a misunderstanding, as he says, 
broke off their marriage, he never let mamma know it. 
Now that she is dead, why shall they not seek each 
other again ? ” 

“ But mamma will know it, for the angel spirits that 
have left us come back to us again, and see what we 
are doing. I often wake in the night with the im- 
pression that mamma is near me, and I am sure she is.” 

“ I too, often dream of her, but it is only a dream, 
and it is my conviction that if she could really come 
back, and see how necessary Aunt Ada is to you, and 
me, she would be glad to know that she will become 
our stepmother.” 

“ Stepmother ! it is an odious name, and they are 
always cruel to the poor children they get under their 
authority. I have never read a story about one yet 
that it did not show her up as a tyrant. I don’t want 
Aunt Ada to be tempted to treat us badly.” 

“ You are an unreasonable, and ungrateful little bag- 
gage, Miss Louise Balfour. Your brain is full of 
crotchets, but this is the most ridiculous of them all. 
Do you think it possible that so good a woman as Aunt 
Ada could change her nature because she assumed the 
position of my father’s wife ? ” 

“ I don’t know, and I don’t care. I only want them 
to stay as they are. Papa must be fifty years old, and 
Aunt Ada can’t be many years younger. If they have 


394 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


lived without each other so long, I can’t see any reason 
why they should get married now. Fidelity is my 
motto ; and papa should be faithful to the memory of 
our mother. I shan’t give my consent, so there ! ” 

“ I don’t suppose they will trouble themselves to ask 
it,” said Alice, dryly. “ Fond as they both are of you, 
you will not be permitted to stand between them and 
their happiness. I did not believe that you would be 
so silly and self-opinionated, spoiled as you have been.” 

“ If they treat me that way, I will mope myself to 
death, and I shan’t care if I never do get well again.” 

Alice arose, and abruptly said : 

“ I won’t stay here to listen to such ingratitude,” 
and she left the room. 

Louise threw herself upon the bed and wept herself 
to sleep. She was a singular child, and often difficult 
of comprehension, but she was really tender-hearted, in 
spite of her wayward and capricious temper. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


A PERVERSE CHILD, 



HEN the two ladies returned to the library 


t T Claire waited for the confidence she felt Miss 
Digby would give her. In the early days of their ac- 
quaintance, to strengthen the deserted wife for the 
future that lay before her, Miss Digby had related to 
her the disappointment that had permanently influenced 
her own life, and tried to show her how possible it was 
to rise above such a misfortune, and find peace and 
contentment, even if love were denied. 


A PERVERSE CHILD. 


395 


After moving restlessly through the room in a man- 
ner quite unusual with her, she paused in front of her 
friend and asked : 

44 Do you remember the romance of my life, Claire ? 
The sad story of my broken hopes, and proud strug- 
gles against the love it was no longer right to feel for 
the husband of another woman? ” 

44 1 vividly remember every detail given, and I hope 
that I have returned to witness the donouement. There 
is no longer any obstacle to your happiness, for your 
rival is also dead, and unlike me, you have no cause 
of bitterness against your early lover.” 

Miss Digby sat down, and leaned her head upon her 
hand. She presently thoughtfully said : 

44 1 believe it will be right to follow the impulses of 
my own heart, ridiculous as some people would say it 
is for a woman over forty to dream of renewing the 
romance of her youth. I have not lived single for this 
end, but because all other proffers of affection have 
filled me with distaste to the thought of marriage. 
Till lately, I believed that my destiny was irrevocably 
settled — that nothing would induce me to give my 
hand to any one ; but my life will be dreary if these 
children are taken from me, and with their father’s 
feelings towards me, I cannot remain near them ex- 
cept as their stepmother. I believe it will render them 
happier if I consent to stand in that relation to them, 
and I know that George will be dreadfully disappointed 
if I refuse the offer his last letter contained.” 

“ I can see no reason why you should do so, Ada. 
Mr. Balfour was a tender husband to the woman he so 
precipitately married, but in his heart I have no doubt 
he preferred you.” 


396 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“Don’t say that, Claire, for it would lessen my 
respect for him, and consequently his chances of 
success. He says himself, in his manly and noble 
letter, that he learned to love the woman who devoted 
her life to him, very tenderly, — that he mourned her 
death sincerely ; and I am sure he speaks the truth. 
His early affection for me assumed the phase of tender 
friendship, and if he could have brought his wife and 
myself together, he would have done so with perfect 
certainty that his own affections would not have 
wandered from their legitimate owner. 

“But Josephine is dead now — his life is lonely, and 
he asks me to brighten it. He cares for the welfare of 
his motherless daughters, and he says that no other 
woman in the world can fill the place of her who is 
gone, save myself. He does not offer the passionate 
love of youth, but he says that we may find together 
more happiness than if we dwelt apart, and he judges 
very correctly that it will be a very severe blow to me 
to be separated from his children.” 

“ Oh, Ada ! what tame and spiritless wooing ! It is 
more like asking you to be his housekeeper, and duenna 
to those girls, than anything else. I scarcely think I 
would take him if he has grown so prosy as that. 
You are still handsome enough to inspire a grand 
passion, and your warm heart would appreciate and 
return it.” 

Miss Digby soberly said : 

“ Such demonstrations on either side would be 
simply absurd. I do not forget that George and my- 
self have passed into the ‘ sere and yellow leaf ’ of our 
autumnal days : but he is not prosy. Mr. Balfour is a 
man of large experience, warm heart, and great intelli- 


A PERVERSE CHILD. 


897 


gence. He has kept pace with the progress of the age 
in which we live, and is that rara avis , a man engaged 
in mercantile life who seeks other sources of pleasure 
and information than those that are to be found in his 
ledger and daily newspaper. He has accumulated a 
handsome fortune, and has retired from business that 
he may pass the remaining years of his life in a 
manner suited to his tastes. He asks me to share his 
life, and the question is, shall I promote his happiness 
and my own by consenting ? ” 

“ As to that, there can be no question ; for the home 
of which you are mistress must always be the abode 
of contentment and good feeling. If that is all you 
have to consider, Ada, you need not hesitate as to your 
decision. After what you have just said of Mr. 
Balfour, I cannot doubt that you highly estimate him, 
and will find happiness in a union with him. In life, 
as in nature, autumn is often the most beautiful season, 
% and I hope that yours will be gilded with a sunshine 
as soft and resplendent as that of which the poet has 
so sweetly sung.” 

“ Thank you, my dear. After all, I am afraid, like 
many others, I am only seeking encouragement to 
follow my own inclination to-do a silly thing. I re- 
spect and admire George Balfour, and if associated 
with him daily, all my old love for him would bloom 
again in renovated beauty. Therefore, I must accept 
him, or sever myself from those I am most deeply 
interested in, and go upon my lonely way.” 

“You can never think of that alternative, for you 
are too important to those young girls to give them up 
lightly, even if you cared less for their father than you 
evidently do. I can see nothing silly in renewing the 


898 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


vows of your youth, and giving the man you have 
always loved the right to claim you as his wife.” 

“ But T have not always loved him. I have got into 
the habit of thinking of him as the property of some 
one else, and I cannot make up my mind to reclaim him 
as my own. I shall have ten days to think it over, for 
Mr. Balfour was about to leave New Orleans, and he 
will scarcely be here in less time than that. I am to 
give my answer in person, and if it is a refusal, he will 
leave for Europe within another week, taking his 
daughters with him, in the hope that the German baths 
may benefit Louise.” 

“ And in that event you will be left desolate. Follow 
the dictates of your feelings, Ada, for there is nothing 
absurd to me in this long deferred union of congenial 
hearts. These young girls seem very fond of you, and 
they will be unhappy if separated from you. I can 
see no reason why you shall not accept Mr. Balfour, 
and many in favor of doing so.” 

“ You are a very considerate confidante, Claire,” 
said Miss Digby, with a faint smile, “ for you insist on 
what you know is the most agreeable thing for me to 
do. But I am not quite certain as to the consent of 
both the girls. Alice is sensible, and practical, and 
she will gladly accept me as her stepmother, but Louise 
is different. She is a fanciful and peculiar child, and 
she remembers her mother so vividly that I am afraid 
she will resent the suggestion that her place can be 
filled by any one.” 

“ You would not surely permit her objections to 
have weight with you ? It will be for her good above 
all others, if you consent to assume the responsibility 
of a mother toward her.” 


A PERVERSE CHILD. 


399 


“ She may not view it in that light, and I own that 
I shall very reluctantly consent to marry her father if 
her sensitive nature will be wounded by such a step. 
She talks to me for hours of her mother, and the tender 
reverence she cherishes for her memory I should be 
loth to outrage in any way. I confess that my own 
heart plays the traitor to me, but I cannot make up my 
mind to give my heart to Mr. Balfour, without the full 
and free consent of both his children.” 

“ If that is all, they must and shall give it. I will 
take Louise in hand myself, and bring her to reason. 
I do not often attempt to influence grown up people 
without success, and with a child like her, I shall have 
few difficulties to contend with, I flatter myself.” 

Miss Digby shook her head, and smiled faintly. 

“ Louise is obstinate in some things, and not easily 
influenced ; but she is a dear, lovely child, in spite of 
the defects in her temper, and I think she is a rarely 
gifted one. Her health is still so frail that I dread any 
unusual excitement for her.” 

“Never fear — I shall deal with her as gently as a 
‘sucking dove ; ’ but I will bring her round yet to my 
way of thinking. The idea of sacrificing, to the 
caprice of a spoiled child, your well-grounded hope of 
a happy and useful future, seems to me infinitely more 
absurd than your union with your early lover. Excuse 
me, Ada, but if I speak at all, it must be with 
freedom.” 

“ Of course ; I grant you perfect freedom of speech 
and action while you are with me. We will discuss 
tljjs subject no more, if you please, till Mr. Balfour 
arrives. By that time, I shall have dul} r weighed all 
my doubts and scruples, and found out what they are 
worth.” 


400 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I only entreat that you will not permit the fantasy 
of Louise to tip the scale on the wrong side. She 
needs you far more than you do her, and she will be a 
most ungrateful little puss if she cannot be brought to 
see how much she will gain by claiming you as her 
guide and friend while she is developing into woman- 
hood.” 

“ I hope you may fiud her amenable to reason, but I 
fear that such will not be the case. In the letter I 
gave Alice, her father informs her of the purpose of 
his visit here, for I requested him to have no conceal- 
ment from his children. I wish them to know what is 
impending, and testify their willingness to accept me 
as their stepmother, before I agree to assume that 
position.” 

“My dear Ada, it is like you to consult the wishes 
of every one before your own ; but I scarcely think 
that Mr. Balfour will be very grateful to you for plac- 
ing the success of his suit at the mercy even of his 
own daughters.” 

Alice had entered the room while Claire thus spoke, 
and she could not avoid hearing and understanding 
her words. She walked straight up to Miss Digby, 
kissed her tenderly upon her forehead and lips, and 
blushing deeply, said : 

“ Excuse me for coming in so suddenly, Aunt Ada, 
and hearing what was not intended for my ears ; but 
let me assure you that one of your children, at least, is 
most happy in the prospect of having so good and 
affectionate a mother as my dear papa has found for 
her.” 

« 

Miss Digby returned the caress, and said : 

“ Thank you, my love ; I never had any doubts as to 


A PERVERSE CHILD. 


401 


your approval of your father’s choice ; but how is it 
with Louise ? She knows as much as you do ? ” 

“Yes — we read papa’s letter together; but Louis 
strange, you know, Aunt Ada, and I am afraid she 
thinks that you will care more for him than you do for 
her.” 

“ J ealous is she ? If that is all, I shall pay little 
attention to her vagaries. Remember, Alice, that this 
affair is by no means settled — I am only taking your 
father’s proposal under consideration ; but as there was 
every reason why I should accept it, I requested him 
to write to you as he has done.” 

“ I only wish it was settled beyond a doubt, for I 
cannot bear the thought of being separated from you, 
dear aunt ; and I know that only as my father’s wife 
can you remain with us. Louise will come to her 
senses when she sees the alternative, for she loves you 
as dearly as I do. She is in one of her ways now, and 
I left her to take her pout to herself.” 

“ That was the best thing you could do. Louise is 
very impracticable at times, and her bad health has 
given her such freedom from restraint, that I fear we 
shall have trouble with her. She is strong enough now, 
however, to be made to understand that her will is not 
to be the law of every one in the house. In asking me 
to marry him, your father has consulted her welfare as 
much as his own wishes, for she requires the constant 
care of some intelligent and reliable woman. She can- 
not expect Mr. Balfour to remain single to please her ; 
and if I do not become her stepmother, she may rely 
on it some one else will.” 

“I shall suggest that to her,” said Alice, laughing, 
“ though I do not believe there is the remotest proba- 
25 


402 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


bility of such a thing. You are the desire of papa’s 
heart, and if he cannot get you, he will trust no one 
else to rule over his children.” 

For the next few days, it seemed as if Louise in- 
tended to carry out her threat to mope herself sick 
again. She listened to the kind and gentle remon- 
strances of Miss Digby in silence, but made no effort to 
brighten up ; and the only answer her friend could 
obtain from her when she talked tenderly and earnestly 
with her was : 

“ You must not take poor mamma’s place. I could 
not bear it.” 

She would have shut herself up in her own room, 
but this Miss Digby would not permit. She compelled 
her to follow the usual routine of her life ; and with 
bathing, walking, and studying the tasks her friend 
inexorably required of her, Louise found it rather 
difficult to sustain the injured role she had chosen to 
adopt. 

Glaire, as she had promised, undertook to influence 
her, but signally failed. She lost patience with the 
obstinate child who would not be made to believe that 
the happiness of two people in the autumn of life could 
be promoted by a union between them. She refused 
to see how annoying her opposition was to Miss Digby, 
and how vexatious it was to her sister. With much 
effort did Claire refrain from expressing her opinion of 
her conduct ; but she did so, as she knew that embroil- 
ing herself with Louise would only add to her friend’s 
perplexity. 

Affairs were in this unsatisfactory state when, at the 
close of the month, Mr. Balfour arrived. 

After sunset, the whole party had strolled out on the 


A PERVERSE CHILD. 


403 


beach — Louise apart from the others, with her dog for 
her companion. As they were returning, a gentleman 
came to meet them ; and Alice sprang forward and ran 
into his arms, exclaiming : 

;t Oh papa, papa, how glad I am to see you once 
more ! and you are looking so well and handsome ! ” 

The last epithet Mr. Balfour certainly deserved in 
spite of his fifty years. He was a tall, finely-formed 
man, with a slight tendency to embonpoint , which, 
however, did not as yet impair the grace of his person 
or take from his step the elastic spring which in his 
youth had shown the buoyancy of his nature. His 
features were not perfectly regular, but the bland and 
noble expression of his face more than atoned for that. 
His hair was abundant, but blanched almost to silvery 
whiteness — it seemed to crown his finely -formed head 
as a halo, and harmonized with his clear, healthy com- 
plexion in a wonderful manner. 

This was Claire’s decision as Mr. Balfour came for- 
ward, carrying his hat in his hand and bowing with the 
grace of a courtier to the stranger to whom he was 
presented. Miss Digby welcomed him with the quiet 
courtesy habitual to her, but nothing could be gather- 
ed from her manner in those first moments of meeting, 
though he looked earnestly and inquiringly at her as 
he took her hand and warmly pressed it. 

Louise had lagged so far behind them that they were 
compelled to stop and wait for her approach ; but she 
seemed in no hurry to join them, although she must 
have recognised her father ; Mr. Balfour cast a swift 
glance of inquiry at his elder daughter. She nodded 
intelligently in response, and he understood at once 
how affairs stood. He hurriedly said : 


404 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I will go to meet Louise. Do not wait for us, Ada, 
as I have something to say to her. I will bring her in 
presently in a better frame of mind, I hope.” 

The three ladies strolled slowly back to the cottage, 
and Mr. Balfour rapidly approached his perverse 
child. 

“ Louise,” he reproachfully said, “ is it, possible that 
after an absence from you of nearly eight months, you 
care so little to see me as to linger on your way as you 
have just done ? ” 

Louise threw herself into his outstretched arms, and 
burying her face upon his breast, burst into a passion 
of hysterical sobs. He tenderly caressed and soothed 
her ; but when she could speak, her first words pained 
him deeply, for they proved that the radical defect in 
her character was still unchecked, in spite of the gentle 
influence of the friend from whose training he had 
hoped so much. 

“ Why should I hurry to meet you when you came 
here not on my account, nor even on that of Alice. 
Aunt Ada is all you are thinking of — but for her you 
would not have come at all, perhaps. How can you 
think of such a thing as putting a stepmother over 
your children ? of giving mamma’s place to any other 
woman ? ” 

With gravity that was almost stern, Mr. Balfour put 
her clinging form away from him and said : 

“ This is truly a charming welcome from my own 
daughter ; reproaches in the first moment of meeting 
I scarcely expected even from one as wayward as you, 
Louise. I had hoped that your selfish desire to be first 
in the hearts that are dear to you had been conquered 
by this time.” 


A PERVERSE CHILD. 


405 


“ Selfish ! ” she repeated, passionately — “ how can 
you be so unjust ? I love you best, and I have the 
right to claim as much affection from you as I lavish 
upon you. It is but just.” 

“ On what grounds do you expect a warmer place in 
my heart than Alice ? She is my loving and obedient 
daughter, ready to promote my happiness in the man- 
ner most agreeable to myself, and you, a mere child in 
years, have the audacity to set yourself in opposition 
to me in the first moment of reunion I ” 

“ Alice does not love you as I do — she cannot — no 
one can. She has forgotten poor mamma, and is ready 
to accept the new one you are going to give her. I 
cannot love Aunt Ada, but I shall hate her if I have 
to call her mother.” 

Mr. Balfour was silent a few moments ; he was evi- 
dently struggling with deep emotion, but he presently 
said : 

“ Louise, you do not know how deeply you wound 
me. The love that has no care for the happiness of its 
object is of small worth in my estimation. Your sister 
proves her affection for me by her conduct, but you 
only show me that the trait you unfortunately inherit 
from your mother still influences every act of your life. 
Josephine was a good wife to me, and I cherished her 
tenderly, but her exacting and jealous temper embit- 
tered many hours of my life. I bore from her what I 
will never bear from you ; so understand and accept 
your position at once.” 

The black eyes of the girl flashed defiantly upon 
him, and she rebelliously said : 

“You not only go back to your first love, but you 
can speak in such terms of my dead mother ! But Ada 


406 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


won’t have you unless both Alice and I consent, and I 
will say no — no to the bitter end. I won’t have a 
stepmother.” 

She looked like a fiery little demon as she thus 
defied him, and he regarded her with astonishment 
with which intense anger was mingled. With quiet 
firmness he replied : 

“ You will have a true mother in Ada Digby, and 
she is the only woman I know who can mould and 
transform you from what you are into sweet and gentle 
girlhood. I had hoped that much had already been 
accomplished in that direction, but I am sorry to see 
that little radical change has been effected. If you 
perversely place yourself in opposition to the union on 
which my heart is set, I shall send you away to board- 
ing-school alone — alone , mark you, for Alice is con- 
tented here, and I will not remove her from the friend 
she had the sense to appreciate at her just value. You 
shall go among strangers, and feel that you are in dis- 
grace, till you are willing to atone for the obstinacy 
that is ready to mar the peace of others to carry its 
point. I gave up my own wishes to your mother, but 
I shall not to you, you may feel assured. Ada Digby 
was my first love, and always my fast friend. We 
were separated by the treachery of a man who has 
long since gone to his account, so I shall spare his 
memory. Before I was aware of how deeply we had 
been wronged, I married your mother. I did it in a 
fit of pique, I do not deny ; but when I learned the 
true state of the case, I did not weakly repent of what 
I had done. By that time the tender, almost adoring 
love of your mother for me had won its legitimate 
reward. We were as happy together as it is given to 


A PERVERSE CHILD. 


40T 


most earthly creatures to be, but I suffered at times 
from the groundless jealousy of an exacting temper on 
the part of my wife. Alice knows this if you were too 
young to remark it ; but it did not estrange me from 
Josephine. It was her weakness, and I forebore 
toward her when it was manifested.” 

“ But you have forgotten her ! You did not forget 
Miss Digby though, and you sought her as our pro- 
tectress, that you might have an excuse for asking her 
to marry you as soon as decency would permit,” said 
the audacious child. 

44 Louise, you try my forbearance to the utmost limit 
of endurance. It is three years since your mother 
died — look at me ; see my whitened hair, the lines 
upon my face, and then, if you can, repeat the asser- 
tion that I have forgotten the wife with whom I dwelt 
in harmony and affection for so many years. The 
stroke that deprived me of her, and of my children, 
was a heavy one to bear ; but I struggled on beneath 
the burden for the sake of yourself and your sister. 
How ungrateful you are to me for all my care and 
indulgence, I regret to see. I have not forgotten your 
mother ; her memory is sweet and pleasant to me ; but 
she can no longer minister to my happiness — she can 
no longer watch over the children whose welfare is so 
important to me that I have made up my mind to do 
that which is best for them and for myself, by making 
Ada Digby my wife, if she will consent to accept the 
heart that so long strayed from its allegiance to her, 
and found happiness with another. You know too 
little of life to understand that this course is not 
incompatible with the most ' tender and reverential 
respect for her who is among the angels ; and if she 


408 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


could look down upon us, she would approve the course 
I am about to take.” 

“ You can’t take it unless Ada says yes, and she 
won’t say it as long as I say no,” reiterated the girl. 

44 Then it is j r our purpose to defy me ? ” 

44 Yes. You are too old, and so is she, to make your- 
selves silly about each other. I won’t countenance 
such ridiculous folly if Alice chooses to do it.” 

44 I think that you are a rare specimen of young 
America to dare to speak to me in this disrespectful 
manner. I see from your improved appearance, that 
your health is re-established, and I shall not hesitate 
to subject you to such an ordeal as will bring you to 
your senses. You can pack your books, and such 
articles as you wish to take with you to school at once, 
for I shall remove you to Philadelphia immediately, 

and place you with Madame S . She has had 

much experience with refractory pupils, and after a 
few weeks of her discipline, I think you will humbly 
sue for forgiveness, and be willing to purchase it on my 
own terms.” 

44 Ah ! indeed ! So I am to be sent out of the way 
that you may do your love-making without a looker on, 
who would see all the absurdity of two elderly people 
billing and cooing with each other.” 

Angry as Mr. Balfour was, and impertinent as this 
speech was, he laughed aloud at it. 

44 There is little likelihood that Ada or I shall make 
fools of ourselves, Louise. The interest we take in 
each other is founded on the deepest respect, and if we 
marry, it will be with the conviction on both sides that 
we are doing what is best for your future welfare, you 
perverse child. I shall say nothing more to you on 


A PERVERSE CHILD. 


409 


this subject, for I have borne from you as much as I 
will allow you to say. Here we are at the cottage, 
and you may commence your preparations for depart- 
ure as soon as you please. To-morrow afternoon I 
shall take you away, and after settling you in your 
new quarters, return here to prosecute the wooing you 
think so supremely ridiculous.” 

“ I am sure that I shall not object to being out of the 
way at such a time,” was the cool reply, “ but*the 
wooing will come to naught unless I give my consent. 

Madame S may torture me if she chooses, but she 

shall not wring it from me. In India women are burn- 
ed on the funeral pyre of their husbands, and I think 
it as little as you should do to remain faithful to the 
memory of the wife you married in your youth. This 
going back to your first love only proves to me that 
you cared for her all the time.” 

“ You are certainly the most outspoken and auda- 
cious child I have ever encountered. The only torture 
to which you will be subjected in your exile will be 
the remembrance of your own ingratitude to the truest 
maternal friend that a motherless girl could possess. 
Do not flatter yourself that your absurd opposition will 
long weigh with Miss Digby. She is a woman of sense 
and discrimination, and when she finds your undutiful 
will arrayed against mine, she will very properly weigh 
the wishes of Alice and myself against it, and give me 
her hand without regard to you. If you decide finally 
that you cannot be happy with your stepmother, I can 
send you back to Louisiana to your Aunt Moreau, to 
become a part of her family.” 

The eyes of Louise dilated at this proposition, and 
for a moment she seemed quite taken aback by it. She 
sullenly said : 


410 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Aunt Adele will not care to have me, but you can 
do as you please. It don’t matter much what becomes 
of me after you and Alice devote yourselves to your 
new idol. I shall die down there, but you will be rid 
of me. I can lie down with the others and be at 
rest.” 

Her father turned and regarded her with an expres- 
sion that should have touched her, but it did not ; she 
sprang past him, and entered the house before he could 
reply. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


THE YOUNG REBEL DISPOSED OF. 

W HEN supper was served Louise declined making 
her appearance ; she sent word that she was 
packing up to go away, and did not wish for anything. 
Miss Digby cast an inquiring glance at Mr. Balfour to 
which he replied by saying : 

“ I will explain why I have decided to remove 
Louise from your care when I can speak in private 
with you. It is as well for her to keep her room this 
evening, as her society would scarcely add to our en- 
joyment.” 

Tea and toast were sent in to the refractory girl, and 
she would have been both mortified and astonished, if 
she could have seen how lightly her defection was 
regarded by the circle that assembled in the library 
after the evening meal was over. Claire found that 
Miss Digby’s estimation of Mr. Balfour was not exag- 
gerated by her partiality for him. He talked agreea- 


THE YOUNG REBEL DISPOSED OF. 4H 

bly, and intelligently, on any topic that was introduced, 
and was always ready to listen with deferential atten- 
tion in his turn. 

Alice sat with her hand clasped in that of her father, 
listening to him as if his words were those of an oracle ; 
and such they were to her, for she loved and rever- 
enced him beyond every other living creature. She 
remembered her mother very tenderly, but the affec- 
tion she had felt for her was far less deep and absorb- 
ing than that she cherished for him. Alice could re- 
member many things that Louise was too young to 
have remarked, and she knew that to Mr. Balfour’s 
consistent forbearance toward his wife’s peculiarities, 
the peace of their home had been mainly due. 

Of the six children given to them, the mother made 
especial idols of the three that resembled her own fam- 
ily, leaving for the others only such notice as her ca- 
price led her to bestow upon them. The eldest and 
fourth daughters and her son were the favored ones ; 
but the father, seeing the difference that was made 
between his children, endeavored to atone in every 
possible way for the injustice done to the neglected 
ones, and those three young creatures clung to him 
with an affection that almost became an idolatry. 

That the Balfour family was a happy and united one, 
Alice knew was due entirely to the just and affection- 
ate spirit of its head, and maturer thought enabled her 
to comprehend the daily sacrifices made by her father 
to keep the sunshine of peace unclouded in his home. 
She rejoiced truly in the promise of happiness before 
him in a congenial union with one she had learned to 
love almost as dearly as she had loved her own mother, 
and she had little patience with the vagaries of Louise. 


412 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Alice would have gone to her however, and assisted 
her in her preparations for departure, but this Mr. 
Balfour would not permit. He told her that Louise 
voluntarily secluded herself on this first evening of his 
return, but he could not dispense with the presence of 
both his daughters. 

A cottage piano stood in a recess in the library, 
and they had music, the sounds of which filled the 
young rebel in her distant room with anger and dis- 
may. They were really enjoying themselves without 
her, and she wept with indignation, and self pity, feel- 
ing herself a martyr to the cause of her dead mother, 
while she hardened her heart toward her living father. 

Claire played concerted pieces, and afterward the 
others sang, the deep rich bass of Mr. Balfour blend- 
ing finely with the well-trained voices of Miss Digby 
and his daughter. 

The moon rose over the sea, casting tremulous 
shadows upon the restless waters; the night was per- 
fectly still, and Claire drew Alice away with her that 
the explanation she knew Mr. Balfour was most anx- 
ious for, might be made. Wrapping light shawls 
around them they went down to the beach, and walked 
to and fro in sight of the house. 

Mr. Balfour placed himself on the sofa on which his 
companion sat, and with a smile, said : 

“ Your friend is very considerate, Ada, and I am 
very much obliged to her, I am sure, for affording us 
this early opportunity to commune with each other. I 
hope you have had time to weigh the proposal I made 
to you, and that you are prepared to give me a favora- 
ble answer.” 

“Yes — I have reflected on it, and I will be frank 


THE YOUNG REBEL DISPOSED OF. 413 

enough to say to you that I think we could be very 
happy together even at this advanced period of our 
lives, if all parties interested in our union were satis- 
fied. But it is not so, as you doubtless learned from 
Louise this evening. Absurd as her opposition really 
is, I must respect it as springing from her strong affec- 
tion for her own mother.” 

“ My dear Ada, it is much more probable that it is 
the offspring of her intense obstinacy of character, and 
her egotistical desire to be first with all those she loves 
herself. I have had to deal with these traits before ; 
I have suffered severely from them in one I was bound 
to consider, but my daughter shall establish no such 
tyranny over me as I bore from her mother. I did not 
choose to have nry children reared in an atmosphere of 
discord, and I yielded to an imperious, but loving 
woman, willing to make her happy in the only way 
possible to one of her peculiar temper. I do not mean 
to speak disparagingly of Josephine, for I owed her 
much that I gratefully remember, but she had those 
faults, and unfortunately they seem to have descended 
to one of her children.” 

“Did Louise venture to oppose you openly, this 
evening ? ” 

“ I should think she did. If you could only have 
heard the bold impertinence with which she expressed 
herself, you would have been both astonished and out- 
raged. She declares that as long as she opposes our 
union, you will defer it ; of course you cannot make 
our happiness dependent on the caprice of a willful 
child.” 

Miss Digby thoughtfully said : 

“ Yet I should be most unwilling to assume the po- 


414 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


sition I must hold toward her as your wife while she is 
so bitterly set against our marriage. What did her 
message about packing up mean ? You did not seri- 
ously think of removing her from this place.” 

“ I have given her the alternative to submit to my 
wishes gracefully or to be sent to boarding-school. 
She chose the latter, and I shall take her away to- 
morrow afternoon.” 

“ But her health is not strong yet, and it may suffer 
from confinement in a school. Had we not better bear 
with her, and defer our union till she is more recon- 
ciled to it.” 

“ With her temper, concession will never answer — 
she would think us both entirely at her mercy, and 
tyrannize accordingly. Her health is firm enough to 
bear the discipline I shall subject her to. I am well 

acquainted with Madame S , the lady I intend to 

place her with, and I know she will act by Louise 
exactly as I wish. The summer vacation is at hand, 
and she takes such pupils as remain with her, to a 
country place she owns near Philadelphia, to spend it 
there. Louise will have plenty of fresh air and exer- 
cise. I intend that she shall also have studies given 
her to show her what a different thing is your mild rule 
from the discipline of her new preceptors. Madame 

S is very kind, but she is also very strict, and I 

think that a few weeks with her, will render Louise 
pliable enough to grant anything I may demand of 
her.” 

“ Of course I cannot oppose your will with reference 
to your own daughter, and it is probably the best 
course to pursue toward her. With all her faults I 
think Louise is very affectionate, and I know she is 


THE YOUNG REBEL DISPOSED OF. 415 


strongly attached to me, although she refuses to accept 
me as her stepmother. When she is separate from us 
and thrown among strangers, she must bitterly repent 
of her late willfulness, and make every atonement in 
her power for it.” 

“ I believe that a single month of probation will suf- 
fice to bring her to reason, and I hope that you will 
not defer our union beyond that time. With, or with- 
out the consent of Louise, I claim my reward. I have 
never ceased to consider you the noblest woman in the 
world, Ada, and if I have crushed down the love I felt 
for you in my youth, and found a species of happiness 
in the precipitate marriage I made, it was far less per- 
fect than that I hope to enjoy with you. I shall love 
you as dearly as in those long past days — nay — I do so 
now, and the heart that admitted no other passion, will 
come back to me as truly and tenderly as in those days 
of glamour, when we were all the world to each other.” 

His voice had taken a passionate intonation, and but 
for the silvery hair of her wooer, Miss Digby could 
have imagined that she was listening to the young and 
ardent lover who had won her heart in her early girl- 
hood. The face was the same, with the nobility of 
added years and larger experience, giving it a meaning 
and expression it had lacked in those youthful days. 
The rosy-faced boy who had first spoken to her of love, 
was a very different person from this grave and digni- 
fied man who had borne the burdens of life with honor 
and success, and after many trials came to lay all he 
had won at her feet, and ask her to brighten the life 
which had always been imperfect without her. 

Miss Digby was touched by his appeal, self-contained 
as she believed herself to be, she found her heart beat- 


416 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


ing with unwonted rapidity, and she knew that a 
happy light was kindling in her eyes, far different 
from the serene expression they usually wore. But 
she would not turn them away from him ; that would 
be too much like girlish coquetry, and she did not for 
a moment forget the staid and dignified age which 
she had attained. She suffered him to draw near her, 
and press her hand between both his own, as she said : 

“ I think we fully understand each other, George, 
and feel that we are to each other what no one else 
can be to either of us. At first, I had many doubts as 
to the possibility of resuming our old relations with 
any prospect of the happiness of which we once 
dreamed— but I think differently now. We can glide 
down the stream of life together as supremely contented 
with our lot as if fate had not so long severed us. 
Your children shall be mine, and in time, even Louise 
shall acknowledge that you acted wisely in seeking in 
me a guide, and guardian to her. But let us not be 
precipitate — give her a little time to reconcile herself 
to what she must be made to understand is inevitable. 
I lately thought that without the consent of both the 
children, I would not assume the position you offer 
me ; but the conduct of Louise has both wounded and 
offended me, and if she is still intractable, at the end 
of five weeks, I will give you my hand without con- 
sulting her. Does not that satisfy you ? ” 

“ My dear Ada, you consider this refractory girl far 
more than she deserves, but I love you all the better 
for it. I concede your request for another week of 
delay. That will bring the first of August around ; 
we will pass the first few days of our union in this 
sweet seclusion, and then go to Cape May and spend 


THE YOUNG REBEL DISPOSED OF. 417 


the remainder of the season there. Alice is now old 
enough to see something of society, and it will be as 
well to initiate her at a fashionable watering-place as 
anywhere else. In settling up my business affairs, a 
handsome residence in Philadelphia was transferred to 
me for a heavy debt, and next winter we will establish 
ourselves in it, and collect around us such society as is 
suited to our tastes. How do you like my plans, Ada ? ” 

“ I approve them entirely. Alice can have the benefit 
of masters to complete her studies in music and French, 
and at the same time see as much of society as is desira- 
ble for so young a girl. If Louise does not petition to be 
taken into favor again, we shall be near enough to her 
to watch over her, and gradually bring her back to a 
sense of the duty she owes you. I think her a pre- 
cocious and highly-gifted child. If properly trained, I 
believe she will make a true and noble woman, as well 
as a very brilliant one.” 

Mr. Balfour smiled faintly. 

“ I shall give her up entirely to you, Ada ; for if 
any one can correct the faults of her temper, and not 
at the same time alienate her affections, it is you who 
will be the good fairy to bring about the transforma- 
tion we desire. I regard both my darling girls with 
extreme tenderness, but Louise has always caused me 
uneasiness concerning both her physical and mental 
health : solicitude for her has given her a stronger hold 
on my affections than she deserves.” 

“ You will not think so in the time to come. The 
crust of selfishness once penetrated, the finer qualities 
of Louise will blossom with beauty, and produce rare 
fruit. The morbid jealousy that deforms her character 
must be dealt with gently, yet firmly, and as she devel- 
26 


418 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


opes into womanhood, I hope to see it entirely eradi- 
cated. 

44 I trust so, but I sarcely dare to be sanguine on that 
score. The tendency that is in the blood is not easily 
got rid of, and Louise comes honestly by that unhappy 
trait. For her own happiness I trust that your efforts 
may be successful ; in the meantime we can only pray, 
and hope for a radical change for the better.” 

“ Do not despond of success, George ; I do not, for 
I see in Louise so much of your buoyant and happy 
nature, that in the end I am sure the good will gain 
the ascendancy over the evil in her disposition. She is 
an interesting study to me, for she has more character 
than any child of her age I have ever known.” 

44 I’m glad to hear you say so, Ada, and I only hope 
that she will not exhaust your patience and forbearance 
when you undertake the task that lies before you.” 

44 There is little to fear of that. I can be very 
patient if a good end is to be attained, and this one I 
have most deeply at heart.” 

44 1 know that, and .1 am most grateful. My way- 
ward girl will fall into kind considerate hands, and I 
am sure that all that is possible will be done to make 
her both good and happy. This is the twenty -fifth of 
June, and on the first day of August I shall expect to 
claim my wife. To-day is Thursday, and on this day 
five weeks we will have a quiet wedding, with Alice 
and your friend for attendants.” 

44 1 can make such preparations as are necessary in 
that time, and it will be as well to have it over, that 
Louise may make up her mind to the actual position of 
affairs.” 

Mr. Balfour took her hand again, and lifted it to his 
lips, and said in a voice that thrilled with emotion : 


THE YOUNG REBEL DISPOSED OF. 419 

“ Oh, Ada, if I expressed to you all that is in my 
heart at this moment, you, with your calm sense and 
equal temperament, would think me, what the world 
pronounces the worst of all fools — an old man deeply 
and passionately in love. You are as handsome — as 
winning to me as in those early days when we believed 
that no fate would ever sever us. In a moment of 
madness I believed that you had proved false to the 
vows we had exchanged, and I placed a barrier between 
us that was impassable. It was well for me, perhaps, 
that years intervened before I knew the truth. When 
it did come, I did not curse the man who had so bitterly 
wronged us, for I looked upon my wife, and the three 
lovely children she had given me, and I felt that God 
had been better to me than I deserved ; but you, Ada, 
were alone. You had no near relations, I knew, and I 
left you bereft of the one tie in which you might have 
found happiness. That was my regret; but now I 
trust that I shall be able to atone to } t ou for the error 
I committed, and make your last years as happy as I 
once dreamed our early ones would be.” 

Miss Digby flushed, and a soft and beautiful light 
came into her eyes as she raised them to his, and 
replied : 

“As it regards the foolishness of loving at our age, 
I believe I am in the same category with yourself. We 
have retained youth of heart, if Time has dealt with 
us in other respects. There are on record several such 
marriages as ours will be that were eminently happy, 
and I believe we shall be able to add another to the 
list. I hear Claire speaking in the yard, and I believe 
I will go to Louise a little while. She may be in a 
more tractable mood by this time.” 


420 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Tell me something of this beautiful friend of yours. 
She excites my interest and curiosity, for I do not 
remember ever hearing you speak of her.” 

Miss Digby hesitated a moment as to revealing the 
identity of Claire with the repudiated wife of Walter 
Thorne, but feeling that after what her friend had said, 
she had no right to betray her incognita, she only said : 

“ Madame L’Epine is a native of Virginia. I be- 
came acquainted with her many years ago, and I have 
always taken a warm interest in her. We sustained 
an irregular correspondence during her long residence 
in France. She has no relations, and when she came 
back to her native land, she naturally came to one of 
the best friends she could claim in it. She is inde- 
pendent in fortune, and you have seen for yourself 
that she is an elegant and accomplished woman.” 

“And a very high-strung one, I should say, too. 
She makes me think of a full-blooded Arabian, who 
would take the bit between his teeth, and go headlong, 
even on a course that would lead to destruction. I ad- 
mire her, but she is a different type of woman from 
you, Ada.” 

Miss Digby was struck with the intuitive perception 
of character his words indicated, but she only smiled, 
and said : 

“ Claire’s temperament is an impulsive and fiery one, 
but she has many noble and womanly traits neverthe- 
less. She has known one overwhelming grief in her 
life, and it has borne bitter fruit ; but I love her, and 
am happy to have her near me at this crisis in my 
life.” 

“As your friend, of course, I accept her as mine. 
Alice seems deeply fascinated by her.” 


THE YOUNG REBEL DISPOSED OF. 421 


“Yes, as all are who come within the sphere of her 
attractions. You will soon find out how charming she 
can be, and like her on her own account.” 

Claire came in, followed by Alice, and Miss Digby 
left them to entertain Mr. Balfour, while she sought 
the room of Louise. 

She found her lying on her bed, weeping violently, 
and the whole apartment strewn with the articles she 
had drawn from drawers and wardrobe, without 
attempting to pack them in the open traveling trunk 
that stood ready to receive them. 

Miss Digby drew near her, and softly passing her 
hand over her disordered hair, said : 

“ Louise, my child, this will never do. You will 
make yourself ill again if you give way to your feelings 
in this manner.” 

The girl started up, threw back her curls, and pas- 
sionately cried : 

“ Who would care if I did make myself sick, even 
if I were to die ? You all make yourselves happy 
together, singing, and enjoying yourselves as gayly as 
if there was not a sore and wounded heart within the 
sound of your voices ; not caring in the least for the 
poor, miserable, deserted child who is first in nobody’s 
estimation. Oh ! if I had only some one to love me 
best — best of all ! ” 

Miss Digby sat down upon the side of the bed, and 
attempted to draw the excited creature in her arms ; 
but Louise recoiled from her, and she sorowfully said : 

“ My dear, you will not believe me ; but I must 
assure you, nevertheless, that you have not been out 
of my mind this evening ; and had I thought that my 
presence would have been welcome, I should have 


422 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


sought you at an earlier hour. As it is, I could not 
sleep without coming to you to try and bring you into 
a better frame of mind.” 

Almost with a sneer, Louise replied : 

“ Oh ! I dare say you would have come to talk me 
over, and win my consent to the — the — the ridiculous 
proceeding you and papa are bent on. There ! it is 
ridiculous, and I don’t care if I have said it ! But you 
need not waste your breath on me, for I am not going 
to say that I am willing to let you, or any one else, 
take my mamma’s place. I have heard her talk about 
stepmothers, and say she could not rest in her grave, 
if she thought one would be placed over her children. 
Papa knows what a horror she always had of them, 

yet he is ready to — to ” 

She broke down completely, and again buried her 
head in her pillow, weeping convulsively. 

After waiting a few moments, Miss Digby quietly 
asked : 

“ Do you think, in becoming your stepmother, that 
I shall change my nature, Louise? You have now 
been with me two years, and I ask you if, in that time, 
I have been either unjust or harsh in my rule? Why 
should it be more difficult for 3^011 to submit to what I 
may require of you, after 1 become your father’s wife, 
than it' has hitherto been ? ” 

“ Oh ! that was different. You had no real power 
then, and you were trying to win Alice and me to like 
you, with a view to what has now happened. You 
knew papa had been in love with you, in his verdant 
days, and you thought he had still enough of the old 
preference in his heart to come back to you, as soon as 
decency permitted. My mamma is buried out of sight, 


THE YOUNG REBEL DISPOSED OF. 423 

and forgotten ; and that old gray-haired man wants to 
make himself happier with you than he ever was with 
her. 

Miss Digby was deeply wounded and offended by 
these reckless words. She began to fear that Louise 
would prove utterly unmanageable ; and she was at a 
loss to know how to deal with her in her present 
excited state. She walked the floor several moments 
before she was calm enough to reply to her last speech. 
At length she paused beside the bed, and looking com- 
passionately on the flushed face that boldly confronted 
her, said : 

“ If the memory of your deceased mother is more 
sacred to you than the happiness of your living father, 
I can only regret it for your own sake. As to the 
motives you have meanly imputed to me ; yes, meanly 
imputed, Louise, for treating you with affectionate 
kindness, I have nothing to say. I shall not conde- 
scend to vindicate myself from that of which I know 
myself to be utterly incapable. True, your father 
loved me in his youth, but the whole tenor of his 
married life proves that he gave your mother an honest 
and tender love — that he cherished her in the best sense 
of the word, and mourned her loss deeply. Who 
should know this better than you, for you have often 
told me of those months of darkness and gloom that 
followed her decease ? ” 

“ He was not grieving for her alone. His beautiful 
Ella, his winning Ada — for she had your name — and 
his only son, with little Cora, all lie beside my mother. 
If he had wept for mamma only, he could not so soon 
have consoled himself. You accuse me of meanness ; 
and I may have misjudged you ; but what motive could 


424 


THE DISCAEDED WIFE. 


you have had for treating us with such tenderness, if 
you did not look to the very reward you have won ? ” 

“You feel, then, that I have been tender with you ; 
but you are mistaken as to the motive. Until very 
lately, I did not believe that anything could induce me 
to renew my old engagement with your father. He 
approached me first through his children ; and the 
affection I have conceived for Alice and yourself, in- 
duced me to listen to him. I am alone in the world, 
and I felt that, to give you up, would be a severe blow 
to me : you have become necessary to me, as I believe 
I am to you. I could not remain near you when you 
were reclaimed by your father, except as his wife. 
But I hesitated long before I consented to assume that 
position. I feared that the long-buried love could 
never brighten into life again ; but now I know better : 
pride and principle taught me to repress it, but it was 
never dead, because it was founded on respect for the 
noble man who has been true to every duty in life that 
devolved on him.” 

“Then you have promised to marry him, though you 
gave us to understand that, without the consent of 
both Alice and myself, you would not do so ? ” 

Louise half raised herself as she asked this question, 
and breathlessly awaited the reply. 

Miss Digby coldly said : 

“ If your objections had been reasonable, or had they 
been stated with more respect for your father and my- 
self, they might have been considered, and pains taken 
to obviate them ; but you have shown such overbear- 
ing temper and lack of consideration for others in all 
you have said, that I have decided to pay no attention 
to your opposition. I give you five weeks to reconcile 


THE YOUNG REBEL DISPOSED OF. 425 

yourself to what is inevitable. If, in that time, you 
come back to me as my good and loving child, I will 
receive you with warmest affection, and never remind 
you of all you have lately done and said to wound and 
estrange me. But, if you still persist in the perverse 
course you have adopted, it will only be at your own 
cost. I cannot be so unjust to your father as to hold 
him in suspense, at the caprice of a thoughtless and 
selfish child. W e shall be married on the first day of 
August, whether your consent is given or not.” 

Louise uttered a shrill cry, and again buried her 
head in the pillows. Miss Digby moved toward the 
door, but, as she was about to pass through it, the 
blurred and angry face of the young rebel again 
became visible, and she said : 

“ You have broken faith with me, and I have no 
more respect for you. You pretend to marry my father 
that you may promote the happiness of his children. 
You know that the very thought of his union with 
you is odious to me — that it makes me wretched — yet 
you persist in carrying out your intentions. If that is 
not double-dealing, I don’t know what is. I wont 
stay to see it done. You may send me among strangers 
to break my heart, as you mean to do ; I don’t care, for 
it does not matter much what becomes of me now.” 

Without the slightest evidence of irritation, Miss 
Digby replied : 

“Very well, Louise. Since such is your decision, 
you can go to-morrow afternoon. Severe as I am sure 
the trial will prove, it will be better for you to pass 
through it. You will soon learn to value what you 
have thrown away, and be most anxious to resume 
your true place in the hearts that love you, in spite of 


426 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


all your waywardness. When you are ready to come 
back, in a proper frame of mind to appreciate your 
home and friends at their just value, you will be ten- 
derly welcomed ; but no more concessions will be made 
to you. From yourself the first advances toward 
reconciliation must come, for I have done all that I 
shall attempt to induce you to play the part of a duti- 
ful and affectionate daughter to the kindest and most 
considerate of fathers. I will leave you now to think 
over your late conduct, and, I hope, to repent of it. 
Even at the eleventh hour it will not be too late to ask 
and receive forgiveness for the rude and ungenerous 
language you have dared to use both to Mr. Balfour 
and myself.” 

As she passed from the room, Louise defiantly said : 

“ I have nothing to repent of : I will be sent a thou- 
sand miles away before I will stay here to witness a 
marriage that I would do anything to prevent.” 

Miss Digby did not pause to listen to these words. 
Indignant, wounded, and almost hopeless of subduing 
this belligerent spirit through loving influences, she 
retired to her own room a short time to compose her- 
self and to pray earnestly for guidance in her conduct 
toward the child to whom she was about to assume the 
responsible position of a mother. 

In half an hour she rejoined the party in the library, 
looking as serene as usual. In reply to an earnest look 
of inquiry from Mr. Balfour, she said in a low tone : 

“ Louise will be ready to accompany you to Phila- 
delphia to-morrow afternoon. In the morning Alice 
and myself will assist her to get ready for the journey.” 

He sighed over her intractability, but he did not 
waver a moment in the course he had decided on. 


THE YOUNG REBEL DISPOSED OF. 427 

Severe as he knew the ordeal would be to her, he 
believed that Louise needed it to bring her to a just 
appreciation of the affection lavished upon her. He 
loved her very tenderly, but he felt that in his own 
firmness lay the only hope of conquering the rebellious 
and ungrateful spirit she had lately manifested. 

On the following morning Louise appeared at break- 
fast with swollen eyes, which might have elicited sym- 
pathy if her face had not worn so sullen and forbid- 
ding an expression. She scarcely spoke in reply to 
any one, and seemed to feel as if she were injured and 
deserted by both father and sister. To Miss Digbv 
her manner was repellant and haughty, but that lady 
calmly ignored her stately airs and treated her precise- 
ly as she always had done, with gentle and kind con- 
sideration. 

After breakfast Mr. Balfour took Louise out to the 
beach for a walk, and he talked seriously with her in 
the vain hope that she would yet recede from the stub- 
born position she had taken, and yield gracefully to 
what she could not prevent. But Louise was obsti- 
nate to the last, and insisted she would become a 
martyr to his desire to make himself a happy home 
again in spite of her opposition. 

Louise was scarcely less disrespectful to him on this 
morning than she had been on the previous evening ; 
she seemed to consider herself absolved from all duty 
or consideration, by the fact that he chose to marry 
without her consent. As they returned to the house 
Mr. Balfour said : 

“ If you persist in this course you will alienate me 
from you entirely, Louise. Love cannot subsist, even 
between the nearest relations, without some food. 


428 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


You will force me to bestow on your sister a double 
portion of affection, while you defraud yourself of 
what is legitimately your due. My poor child, you do 
not know how unhappy you make me, or you could 
not act thus.” 

“ I do not expect you to have eyes, ears nor heart 
for any one but Ada Digby from this time forward. 
Alice may be willing to stay with you and pick up 
such stray crumbs of love as you may throw to her, but 
I will not. I cannot defraud myself of what I never 
had, for if you cared for me much, you could never 
have thought of giving me a stepmother. You know 
how mamma always talked of them, and sweet and 
affectionate as Miss Digby has been to Alice and me, 
when once she gets the power in her hands she will 
not be any better than the rest of them.” 

“ You are incorrigible, and it is useless to attempt to 
reason with you. The prejudice against stepmothers 
is universal, yet thousands of good women have stood 
in that relation to children and been as true to their 
duties as if they had been their own — as tender of the 
little ones as their mothers could have been. You 
libel your own sex when you speak as if no woman can 
be trusted with authority over the children of another.” 

“ Vox populi, vox Dei” she maliciously quoted. “ If 
that is true, the opinion of the world is worth some 
consideration. I only repeat what I have been taught ; 
what I learned from the lips of one I loved best of all 
— of one who loved me too well ever to have placed a 
spurious father over me if she had been left a widow.” 

“ Louise, this passes endurance. You care for noth- 
ing on earth but having your own way ; thwarted in 
it, you betray the most repulsive traits of your nature, 


THE YOUNG REBEL DISPOSED OF. 429 


and I find you hard, selfish, and even coarse. I shall 
speak with you no more on this subject, but I shall 
exact from you implicit obedience to my commands 
and ample submission hereafter for your present contu- 
macy.’ ? 

By this time they had gained the door, and Louise 
darted into the house and sought her own room to 
weep the injured tears she had held back with so much 
difficulty while in her . father’s presence. She was very 
wretched, for in her heart was an oppressive sense of 
wrong-doing, yet her fanatical allegiance to the memo- 
ry of her dead mother made her believe that her course 
was justifiable, though it brought herself censure and 
banishment from the paternal roof. She presently 
wiped away her tears and set herself energetically to 
work to pack up her clothes and get ready for her de- 
parture. 

When Miss Digby, accompanied by Alice, came in 
to assist her, they found that Louise had accomplished 
all unaided, and she seemed so ungracious toward 
them that they both left her after a few attempts to 
bring her into a better mood. 

The day wore on — the carriage that had been or- 
dered to take Mr. Balfour and his daughter to the 
railroad station a few miles distant, came to the door, 
and the luggage was strapped on. Up to the last mo- 
ment Miss Digb}^ hoped for some evidence of relenting 
on the part of Louise, but she gave no sign, and after 
bowing formally to the two elder ladies, she kissed 
Alice lightly and sprang into the vehicle as if glad to 
effect her escape from them all. 

On the journey she maintained an impenetrable 
reserve toward her father, for she had decided in her 


430 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


own mind that she was of no consequence to him in 
the new scheme of life he had planned, and while 
others were paramount to her she would never consent 
to assume the place in his house that of right belonged 
to her. Mr. Balfour permitted her to take Fidele with 
her, though doubtful as to his reception in the board- 
ing-school to which they were bound. But Louise 
seemed to cling so fondly to the dog that he had not 
the heart to refuse her this consolation, badly as she 
was behaving. 

They reached Philadelphia that night, but too late 

to go to the residence of Madame S . It was 

passed at a hotel, and on the following morning Mr. 
Balfour took his daughter to her new abode. In her 
heart Louise shrank from the ordeal before her, and 
trembled at the prospect of being left alone among 
strange people ; but she would have died sooner than 
betray her feelings. She had chosen her course, and 
she intended to abide by it, cost what it would to her- 
self. 

The house, a square brick edifice, stood in a large 
sombre-looking yard, surrounded by a high wall. A 
ring at the gate brought a servant who unlocked it and 
admitted them into the sacred shades consecrated to 
feminine knowledge. In a few more moments thejr 
were in the presence of a small, dark, and very fat 
Frenchwoman, who spoke English correctly and volu- 
bly. 

Her manner was gracious to Mr. Balfour, and almost 
caressing to his daughter, but in the mood in which 
Louise then was she felt as if she almost hated her for 
the cordial affability with which she welcomed her 
among her pupils. 


THE YOUNG REBEL DISPOSED OF. 431 


“She’s the same to all of us at first, I suppose,” 
thought the young cynic ; “ but wait till she gets us 
under her thumb, and she’ll make us feel her nails if 
we do the least thing that is against the rules. I shall 
pine away in this sombre old place, and I hope I shall 
die ; then they will all be sorry that they have broken 
my heart.” 

While these thoughts passed through her mind, her 

father was talking earnestly with Madame S in 

the recess of a window. She nodded intelligently 
many times, and finally said : 

“ I fully understand, Mr. Balfour. I shall do all 
that is possible to restore Miss Louise to a proper 
sense of her duty. You may rely on my judgment to 
hit the right medium between indulgence and undue 
severity. I do not forget that you befriended me 
once when I needed assistance, and I will do my best 
to show my gratitude, even at this late day.” 

“ Do not speak of that, Madame ; it was simply a 
matter of business, and I did no more for you than any 
other liberal man would have done.” 

“ But the way in which you did it, Monsieur, merits 
every encomium. Your countrymen do not often know 
how to confer a favor gracefully, but you proved that 
you possessed the heart of a Howard and the chivalry 
of a Bayard.” 

Mr. Balfour laughed at this exaggeration, for all he 
had done for the speaker was to advance her a sum of 
money to assist her to establish her school, for which 
he had not rigorously exacted payment. 

Madame S had once lived in New Orleans, and 

been well known to Mr. Balfour as an accomplished 
and deserving woman, whose husband was entirely 


432 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


unworthy of her. His family resided in Philadelphia 
and after the decease of the dissipated son and brother, 
they offered the widow facilities for commencing a 
school in that city provided she could raise a certain 
sum of money. Mr. Balfour had befriended her then, 
and she was now glad of an opportunity to prove to 
him that she appreciated his kindness. 

Louise took leave of her father with the same stoical 
appearance of indifference, and he left her, feeling 
much depressed and discouraged, on her account. 
When he was gone she wept herself almost sick, but 
as long as her father remained in sight she repressed 
her tears with a heroism worthy of a better cause. 

As an especial favor to her benefactor, Fidele was 
allowed to remain with Louise, for which concession 
she felt some gratitude to her new preceptress. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

AN APPROACHING CLIMAX. 

M R. BALFOUR did not return to Seaview — he had 
business to attend to in New York, which would 
detain him several weeks, but he wrote word to Miss 
Digby that he should be back in time to claim the ful- 
fillment of her promise on the day appointed for their 
union. 

The interval was filled up with preparations for the 
approaching event, for the visit to Cape May required 
a handsome outfit for both herself and Alice, and the 
bride elect was most anxious that her young charge 


AN APPROACHING CLIMAX. 


483 


should have an elegant and tastefully selected ward- 
robe. The three ladies made several trips to Phila- 
delphia on this important business, but they were not 
undertaken until Louise had gone into the country to 
spend the vacation on the farm belonging to Madame 
S — -. 

For the first two weeks of her banishment, Louise 
had not deigned to write a line in reply to the affection- 
ate letters sent to her from the cottage with as much 
regularity as if they had been answered in the most 
diffusive manner. Alice wrote every other day, giving 
her sister a minute account of everything that she 
thought would interest her, and Miss Digby always 
added a postscript so worded as to afford the obstinate 
girl every facility for returning to her home without 
any undue humiliation on her part. 

At length a brief acknowledgement of these letters 
was vouchsafed, which ran thus : 

“I am doing well enough here, though I do not pre- 
tend to say I am happy. That would be impossible to 
an outcast like me. Nobody loves me as well as I love 
them ; not even you, Alice, with all your professions. 
SinceAve came to the country I have fallen into the 
routine prescribed for me by papa, though the three 
other girls who are here with me are only required to 
practice their music regularly. 

“ I have long lessons assigned me, which I recite to 
Madame alone. We speak French altogether, but that 
is no difficulty to me, you know. But I am tired of it 
all, and wish that 

“ No — I will not say that — I will maintain the position 
I have taken if it kills me. I suppose you are getting 
ready for that odious marriage, but I won’t come back 
27 


434 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


to see orange flowers placed on gray hair — it is too 
absurd, and makes me too miserable even to think of 
it. Good-bye, Alice ; I don’t ask you to think of me, 
for of course you are too much taken up with your 
fine preparations to waste your time in that way. 

“ Louise.’’ 

When Miss Digby read this, she smiled hopefully, 
and said : 

“ We shall have Louise back in time for the wedding, 
my dear. She is evidently getting heartily sick of 
being away from us ; she is slowly coming to the 
conviction that happiness is only to be found in the 
performance of duty.” 

“ I hope so,” was the dubious reply of Alice, for she 
could see very little that was encouraging in her sister’s 
letter. She replied to it immediately, and the ice once 
broken, Louise wrote more regularly herself. As the 
correspondence progressed, it was evident that Louise 
was wretchedly discontented, though she made no 
complaint of the treatment she received. Madame 

S was very kind to her, she said, but very rigorous 

in exacting the performance of the tasks set for her. 

“ I am heart-sick and weary of it all,” she at last 
wrote, “ but I will bear anything sooner than yield my 
consent to papa’s marriage with any one . I do not 
object particularly to Miss Digby, for she is as good a 
choice as he could make at his time of life ; but I loathe 
the thought of seeing even her in poor mamma’s place. 
I don’t know how you can bear it with so much equa- 
nimity, Alice. But, then, mamma did not pet you as 
she did me, and perhaps that is the reason.” 

“ No,” thought Alice, with a little sigh, as she re- 


AN APPROACHING CLIMAX. 


435 


called the past, and remembered the yearning of her 
childish heart to claim the same measure of affection 
from her mother which was freely given to her favorites. 

“ Papa tried to make it up to me, though, and now 
I am ready to promote his happiness in the way most 
pleasing to him. Although Louise has done so much 
to annoy her, Aunt Ada will make no difference 
between us. She is too just for that. It is strange to 
me that Louise cannot see what good fortune it is to 
two motherless girls to have a friend and guardian in 
such a woman as she is.” 

Time rolled on. July was far advanced, and the 
bridal trousseau, with the elegant summer wardrobe of 
Alice, had been sent home. Among the latter were 
several beautiful dresses for Louise, for Miss Digby still 
cherished the hope that the rebellion would end before 
the wedding actually took place. An invitation was 
sent to Madame S to be present, and she was re- 

quested to bring her pupil with her if she would con- 
sent to return to her late home. 

Mr. Balfour arrived at Seaview on the Monday before 
the wedding, looking happy, and handsome. He had 
settled his business to his satisfaction, and announced 
that he was henceforth free from mercantile trammels, 
and at liberty to follow the bent of his own inclinations. 
He found himself the possessor of an ample fortune, 
profitably invested, and his spirits arose to almost boy- 
ish glee as he thought over the bright prospects before 
him. He had been faithful in using the talents entrust- 
ed to him, and he had won his reward fairly and honor- 
ably. He had nothing to reproach himself with in 
the past, and he raised a grateful heart to Heaven for 
bestowing such perfect content on him even in the 
autumn of his days, 


436 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


When Mr. Balfour read over the letters of Louise, 
he took the same view Miss Digby did, and cheerfully 
said : 

“We shall have our little rebel back before Thurs- 
day, penitent enough, I dare say, though she will not 
say much on the subject. Neither will we, for we can 
afford to be generous when we are all so happy.” 

In the evening, when they were walking on the beach 
and Claire and Alice had gone some distance ahead of 
them, Mr. Balfour suddenly said : 

“ I have been very forgetful, Ada, not to tell you 
before that I met with the son of our old enemy while 
I was in Washington last week. He was a boy when 

I went away from L , but when I heard his name, 

I claimed his acquaintance, and invited him to come to 
Seaview in time for the wedding. As he is almost the 
only relative you have, I thought the courtesy was due 
to him.” 

“ Good Heavens ! ” exclaimed Miss Digby, stopping 
suddenly and looking around, “ I hope that Walter did 
not accept your invitation ! But of course he did not, 
for he has not spoken to me for several years.” 

“ Don’t feel too secure on that point, for he seemed 
perfectly willing to let bygones go for what they are 
worth. He promised me that he would be here on 
Thursday, and I hope that you are not displeased at 
the prospect of seeing him. If so, I shall regret my 
precipitate invitation.” 

“I have no unwillingness to meet Walter Thorne 
myself, though he has not treated me as courteously as 
he should ; but — but his coming here will be very 
awkward just now.” 

“ Why so? You are not afraid that he will think of 


AN APPROACHING CLIMAX. 


437 


falling in love with Alice ? She is young enough to 
be his daughter, and he will be likely to find metal 
more attractive in your beautiful friend.” 

“ It is of that which I am afraid,” she absently 
replied. “If I believed that any good could come 
from — from — ” 

She paused so long, that Mr. Balfour asked : 

“ From what, Ada ? What are you dreaming of ? 
Thorne is a dashing, and elegant man, and I think it 
by no means unlikely that he and Madame L’Epine 
may take a fancy to each other. You think, possibly, 
that there is too much fire in both to render it safe for 
them to think of sailing in the same boat. However, 
as she has been so many years a widow, she will 
scarcely consent to marry any one now.” 

Miss Digby had thought rapidly while he was speak- 
ing. She saw no alternative but to place him in pos- 
session of the whole truth, and she gravely said : 

“ Chance, fate, or whatever you may term it, is 
against me. I must confide Claire’s secret to you, but 
I know that you will not betray it. Promise me, how- 
ever ; for she would never forgive me if I were instru- 
mental in thwarting her plans.” 

“ You are very mysterious, and I am becoming very 
curious. Of course I shall feel bound to respect any 
confidence you may impart to me ; but I cannot imag- 
ine in what manner your friend’s plans can have 
anything to do with Mr. Thorne.” 

“ I can soon enlighten you, though I am afraid that 
Claire would hardly forgive me if she knew that I had 
done so. Do you remember the story of Walter’s 
unfortunate first marriage? ” 

“ Yes, very distinctly ; for you wrote the account to 


438 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


me yourself, and I remember how indignant you were 
at the treatment the poor girl met at his hands, and 
those of his father. But what has that to do with 
Madame L’Epine ? ” 

“ Everything — for Claire is the repudiated wife, and 
she has come back to this country solely with the view 
of bringing Walter to her feet again.” 

Mr. Balfour looked astonished, and then pleased. 
He said : 

“ She must have loved him very devoutly to forgive 
the past, and come across the ocean to seek him again. 
He would be a worse man than I take him to be if he 
does not respond to her wishes, and renew their old 
relations without delay.” 

Miss Digby shook her head, and gravely replied : 

“ You are far from understanding the situation. It 
is not love so much as pride, and hate, that has brought 
Claire hither on such an errand. She vowed years ago 
that she would yet be received with honor in the home 
from which she was spurned — that she would win 
more than the old love from its master, but it was not 
in the hope that any real union can ever exist between 
them. She will give Walter her hand, but — I am 
afraid she thinks only of becoming a Nemesis to him — 
not a minister of happiness.” 

“ She thinks so now, but when once she has regained 
her rightful position, she will forget all those fantastic 
notions and seek to make her home a pleasant one to 
live in. Your friend is too sensible a woman to act 
otherwise I am sure.” 

“ I wish I could take the same view, but I am afraid 
that resentment is too deeply seated in Claire’s mind 
to permit her to act quite reasonably. Since she 


AN APPROACHING CLIMAX. 


439 


developed her purpose to me, I have used all my in- 
fluence to induce her to visit her friends in Virginia, 
and then return to Europe without seeking the man 
she persists in regarding as her husband. I relied on 
the difficulty of effecting a meeting between them as 
the best safeguard, and here he is rushing on his fate 
by coming to our wedding.” 

“Well, well; let things take their course. There 
will be a recognition — a reconciliation — and so fasci- 
nating a fellow as your cousin can scarcely fail to make 
his peace with the woman who has clung to the idea 
of reclaiming him through so long a period of time.” 

“But such is not the wish of Claire. She is so 
much changed in every respect from the unformed 
child Walter won in his youth, that it will be impos- 
sible for him to identify her, and she insists on main- 
taining the strictest incognita towards him. If she 
gives him her hand, it will be without a suspicion on 
his part that he is taking to his heart the wife he once 
cast off. In her own time, and her own way, she will 
reveal herself to him after they are united. I have 
exhausted my eloquence in trying to turn her from 
this purpose, but I have found her immovable.” 

After reflecting a few moments, Mr. Balfour said : 

“ It will end all right, Ada. Madame L’Epine loves 
the man who injured her in spite of all he has done 
to alienate her affections. She may not be aware of 
the fact, but it will make itself apparent to her when 
she has regained what was torn from her so ruthlessly 
by that old man ; for he it was, after all, who ruined 
his son’s life, as he so long darkened ours. If she 
succeeds in winning her husband back, she will soon 
find out that to make him wretched is no way to im- 


440 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


prove her own happiness. We must hope for the best, 
and trust to her good sense and good feeling to bring 
about a happier result than you anticipate.” 

“ Then you think it will be well for him to come 
here ? ” 

“ I am glad that I happened to invite him ; it seems 
as if an overruling Providence had taken affairs into 
its own hands. I shall keep your friend’s secret, and 
try by every means in my power to bring her plans to 
a successful issue. We have no right to attempt to 
keep those two apart, for fate evidently wills that they 
shall be reunited.” 

“ You may be right, but I am afraid that you do not 
understand Claire as well as I do. She is very resent- 
ful, and this desire to regain a position in which she 
will find little happiness seems to have become a mania 
with her. I cannot foresee how it will end, and I 
dread the thought of favoring her wishes, only to 
plunge both her and Walter into an abyss of wretch- 
edness from which there would be no escape.” 

“ My dear Ada, God is over all, and he can bring 
good out of apparent evil. If Madame L’Epine came 
hither to seek Mr. Thorne, she will find him at all 
hazards, and it will be far better for the meeting to 
take place where friends are near to watch over her. 
She is a woman who will not submit to be thwarted, 
and she is one whom few men could resist if she chose 
to exercise her fascinations upon them. She may lead 
Thorne a fearful dance at first, but I think the end will 
be peace and union between them.” 

“ I hope you may be right ; God alone can change 
those two bitter hearts, and bring back a shadow of 
the happiness they once enjoyed with each other. 


AN APPROACHING CLIMAX. 441 

Claire admits that for one little month she would not 
have exchanged her lot with that of any other mortal 
creature ; but I am afraid that what subsequently 
happened has embittered her beyond forgiveness.” 

“ Not a bit of it, Ada ; your friend is a woman to 
love but once in her life ; and underlying all her bitter 
resentfulness, is a strong and deathless affection for the 
man against whom she meditates some fearful retribu- 
tion. That purpose will sink out of sight and be for- 
gotten in the new love that will spring up between 
them. If Madame L’Epine did not intuitively feel 
some such conviction, she would shrink from again 
linking her fate with that of Walter Thorne, with a 
thrilling sense of disgust and horror. No woman 
could deliberately throw herself into the power of a 
man for whom she feels no emotion of preference.” 

“ In that I believe you are right ; but Claire is not 
to be judged by ordinary rules. However, there is 
nothing left for us but to let things take their course. 
I will do nothing to retard or advance her schemes, 
if she persists in carrying them out — the responsibility 
must lie entirely upon herself. As to Walter, he mer- 
its some retribution for his treatment of both the 
women who trusted their destiny to his keeping. I 
am willing to receive him here that I may induce him 
to carry out the last wishes of poor Agnes, and permit 
her daughter to come to me. She is shut up alone at 
Thornhill and treated with a degree of harshness that 
is shameful. May and Alice are nearly of the same age, 
and they would be suitable companions for each other.” 

“If I had known anything about Miss Thorne I 
should have extended my invitation to her, also ; but 
you can write yourself and ask her father to bring her 
with him.” 


442 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ It is too late for that now, for May is near L , 

and by the time my letter would reach him, Walter 
would be ready to set out on his journey hither. I 
must prepare Claire for his advent, though I shrink 
from the thought of his coming to find her beneath our 
roof.” 

“ At that moment they were rejoined by the others, 
and the conversation became animated and general. 
Mr. Balfour regarded Claire with deepening interest 
after the revelation he had just heard. He watched 
her brilliant face, so full of animation when she was 
interested, so varying in expression that the passionate 
power of the nature within seemed stamped on every 
individual feature ; and he comprehended that what 
this woman willed, she would accomplish, let the 
result to herself be what it might. 

That night, after they had retired to their separate 
apartments, Miss Digby sought Claire. She found her 
sitting beside a window that looked toward the sea, 
apparently wrapped in sombre thought. When her 
friend came in, she turned her head, and smiling 
faintly, said : 

“ I knew you had something to say to me, Ada, 
from the way you looked at me several times this 
evening. I feel a presentiment that some crisis in my 
fate is approaching, but in what way I cannot tell.” 

“ You must be very sympathetic, as the magnetizers 
say. Cannot your intuition divine what I have come 
hither to say ! ” 

“ No; beyond the restless consciousness of some im- 
pending danger, the oracle is dumb. What is it, Ada? 
Why do you look so grave ? ” 

“ Because I am afraid of results ; but who can con- 


AN APPROACHING CLIMAX. 


443 


trol fate ? It seems to me that your strong will has 
acted on some occult and mysterious force to bring 
about exactly what you have so much at heart.” 

Claire started forward, alternately paling and flush- 
ing, as she eagerly exclaimed : 

“ Is he coming here ? Have you heard from Walter, 
for your words can point only to him ? ” 

“ I have heard indirectly from him. Mr. Balfour 
accidentally met with him in Washington, a few days 
ago, and invited him to Seaview. He will be here by 
Thursday.” 

It was difficult to tell how this announcement affected 
Claire. She bent her face down and covered it with 
her hands, but her companion could see that her form 
was shivering with repressed emotion. When she 
looked up she was deadly pale, but she calmly said : 

“ I knew a way would be opened to a meeting 
between us, and Mr. Balfour has unconsciously acted 
as the agent of Fate. I have much to thank him for — 
much, much.” 

“ I am not so sure of that, Claire. I dread Walter’s 
coming more than I can express : I am afraid for you, 
my dear, for I am impressed with the belief that you 
will attempt to avenge the past on him, even if you 
sacrifice all that should be dear to you in the present.” 

“ Oh, Ada, dear, we have exhausted that subject, 
and you must excuse me if I decline to renew it again. 
I shall fulfill my destiny — let that suffice. I am ready 
for the conquest that awaits me, but I must be quite 
sure of my incognita. I know that outwardly I am so 
changed that he can never suspect my identity ; but is 
my voice so different that his ear will not recognize 
some of its old familiar tones ? That is the only fear I 
have.” 


444 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Your voice, like your person, has developed ; and 
even in speaking it has a depth and meaning unknown 
to it in your girlish days. I believe that Walter will 
not recall anything familiar in it ; so set your doubts 
at rest. Your name, however, is a very uncommon 
one in this country, and that may afford him a clue.” 

“ You must not call me by it. Translate it into 
Clara ; or, better still, let me be Madame L’Epine, a 
friend whose acquaintance you accidentally made. He 
must not know how long I have resided in France — 
that of itself would set him to thinking and probably 
lead to my detection.” 

“ And if it did, would it not be the best thing that 
could happen ? To lure Walter blindfold into a second 
union with you may have very sad results.” 

“ I dare say it will,” Claire coldly replied. “ I do 
not intend the result to be a triumph to him — I thought 
you fully understood that.” 

“ I do ; and deprecate it as the worst wrong you can 
do to yourself. I am not pleading for him, but for all 
that should be dear to you. Dear Claire, come out in 
3 r our true character, or give up all thought of renewing 
your relations with Walter. He will resent a decep- 
tion, and he is a difficult man to reconcile when he is 
once deeply offended.” 

With a mocking laugh, Claire said : 

“Do you suppose that I shall leave my slave the 
power to resent anything that 1 may do ? No, indeed ; 
I intend to make him adore me to that degree that he 
will sue abjectly — yes, abjectly , for any crumb of love 
I may choose to throw him. He has tortured another 
woman — he has tortured me, through the power our 
love for him gave him, and I intend to return the cup 


AN APPROACHING CLIMAX. 


445 


to his own lips embittered a thousand fold. He shall 
drink it to its dregs ; and no one knows better than 
yourself how well he merits the punishment I have 
decreed him.” 

“ I am aware of all that. But God has said : ‘ Ven- 
geance is mine, and I will repay ; ’ and those who take 
it on themselves to deal out retributive justice usually 
find themselves in little better plight than the object of 
their punishment.” 

“ I know all that, my dear friend, but the brand you 
would pluck from the burning is too far gone to go off 
in anything but fiery sparks, and such coals of fire as 
one heaps on one’s enemy’s head sometimes. My ap- 
plication of the words of the Good Book is rather 
literal, but it answers my purpose well enough.” 

“ Heaping coals of fire on the head of another is 
something very different from what you propose, I am 
afraid. If I thought you meant to return only good 
for the evil you have endured, I should be more hope- 
ful of the future.” 

“ I can’t tell you what I mean to do, for I scarcely 
yet know myself ; but one thing is clear to me, and 
that is, that Walter Thorne is coming hither, and I 
intend to make him my captive. I shall play with him 
as the cat tortures the mouse she intends to devour ; 
and when I find his patience and forbearance nearly 
exhausted, I will graciously condescend to accept the 
hand he pledged to me so long ago. For a few brief 
weeks he shall think himself a crowned demi-god, and 
then — then — That is enough for you to know, Ada. 
Stories always end with a happy marriage, and nobody 
thinks of lifting the curtain from the after life of the 
wedded lovers to pry into their domestic affairs, and 


446 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


find out if the fair promise of perfect bliss did not 
prove all a delusion. It is refreshing te dream of 
ideally happy people, even if we don’t find them in 
this work-a-day world of ours.” 

Miss Digby sighed. She knew that in her present 
mood Claire was impracticable. After a pause, she 
said : 

“ You must make your own fate, Claire : yet I 
believe you to be worthy of a better one than you are 
preparing for yourself. I shall not ask for any further 
confidence, for I rather shrink from the developments 
you might make. If I fully comprehend your plans, I 
might find it impossible to refrain from betraying you 
to Walter, as the surest means of saving you both from 
plunging into irremediable wretchedness.” 

“ If you did that, Ada, I could never forgive you ! ” 
exclaimed Claire, in much excitement. “ I have cher- 
ished this dream for years, and the one who snatches 
from me its fruition in the moment my triumph 
approaches would be no true friend. You have 
pledged your word to me, Ada, and I hold you bound 
to your promise of secrecy. From myself alone shall 
Walter Thorne learn who I am, and why I sought him 
a second time.” 

“ So be it, then ; but I hold myself absolved from 
the consequences. Good-night, Claire. I can only 
pray to a higher power to soften your resentful nature, 
and bring good out of the evil you seem bent on pur- 
suing.” 

“ Good-night,” said Claire, faintly ; and when the 
door closed on her friend, she bent down and wept 
bitterly. 

All sense of triumph in the easy accomplishment of 


LOUISE REPENTANT. 


447 


the coveted meeting between herself and Thorne seem- 
ed to have died out, for the time at least. 

She could scarcely realize that he was actually com- 
ing to Seaview ; that in a few more days she would 
stand face to face with the man whose perfidy had 
blighted her life ; to whom she had sworn to bring 
home the anguish he had caused her to suffer. Claire 
possessed great power of self-control, but she dreaded 
that it might fail her in the moment of meeting, for 
she knew that she would be moved to the depths of 
her soul, whether by love or hate she could not posi- 
tively determine in these moments of tumultuous 
thought. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

LOUISE REPENTANT. 

O N the following morning Claire appeared at break- 
fast, looking paler than usual, but she was not 
less animated and agreeable in conversation ; and Miss 
Digby thought that she detected a more gentle light in 
her brilliant eyes, a softer tone in her voice, proving 
that the deeper chords in her nature had been struck, 
and she argued favorably from these signs. She felt 
less dread as to the result of the approaching meeting, 
for she began to take the same view of the situation 
that Mr. Balfour did. 

After the morning meal was over, when they were 
standing together on the portico, Alice, with glowing 
cheeks and sparkling eyes, came up the pathway 


448 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


leading to the portico on which her father and Miss 
Digby stood. She spoke as soon as she came near 
enough to be heard : 

“ Here is something important from Lou, papa. 
She has written me only a line or two, but they tell the 
whole story. Here is what she says : 

Alice displayed a sheet of note-paper on which was 
these words ; 

“ I am so unhappy that I can hold out no longer; 
and, if papa will forgive me, I shall come back with 
Madame S and try to be a good daughter. 

“ Louise.” 

“ This is more than I hoped for,” said Miss Digby, 
with a smile radiant with tender joy. Mr. Balfour 
hastily broke the seal of the dainty envelope Alice 
thrust into his hands, and read the lines traced on the 
sheets of note-paper within. 


Retreat, July 29th, 18— 

“ My Dearest Papa — Can you forgive your 
naughty and selfish little girl for maintaining this long 
silence toward you ? I have wanted to write to you 
every day, but my heart rose up in rebellious bitterness 
against you whenever I thought of you in the character 
of a suitor to any one. I did not reflect that it is not 
my place to sit in judgment upon you ; and I have 
done it so ruthlessly, so undutifully, that now I have 
repented of it, I hardly know how I can atone to you 
for the harsh thoughts I have harbored toward the two 
best friends I have in the world. 

“ I do not wish you to think that putting me away 


LOUISE REPENTANT. 


449 


from you, and giving strangers authority over me, has 
made me submissive : that only made me harder and 
more defiant than before ; and only yesterday I felt 
as if nothing on earth should ever induce me to forgive 
you for putting another wife in poor mamma’s place. 

“ I am going to tell you what happened last night, 
and you will see why I write you this letter, and un- 
derstand the cause of the change in my feelings. 

“ I had been out walking with Madame S till 

quite dark, and I felt weary and depressed when I 
went to my room. The young girl who occupied it 
with me has been sent for by some of her friends, and 
I have it to myself. I did not say my prayers before I 
got into bed, for I felt that God had little care for such 
a poor, forlorn little outcast as I had made myself: 
yet I would not see that I was most to blame for being 
here with no one to love or caress me as in those 
pleasant days when, I acknowledge, I was happy at 
Seaview. 

“ I fell asleep almost as soon as my head touched the 
pillow ; and then a vision came to me which I shall 
always remember. Soft music seemed to float through 
my chamber, and a radiant glow of light was gradually 
diffused around the bed on which I lay ; floating in 
this was a form which I knew at once to be that of my 
mother, but so spiritualized, so beautified, that only the 
heart of one who had loved her as I did could have 
recognized her. 

“ But heavenly as she looked, there was a cloud of 
sorrow on her face ; and, as she bent over me, a tear 
fell upon my brow. I raised my arms, and cried out : 

“ ‘ Oh, mamma, mamma ! do angels weep over the 
unhappiness of those they have left on earth ? Have 
28 


450 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


you come to console me for being left alone, with no 
one to care for me ? ” 

“A soft murmur seemed to issue from her lips, 
which formed itself into words. 

44 4 I have come to show you your duty, Louise. 
Since kind earthly friends have set it before you in 
vain, I have obtained permission to visit you while you 
slumber, and show you how badly you have acted — 
how much unhappiness you are giving to those who 
deserve something better at your hands.’ 

44 1 again cried out : 

44 4 It is for you I opposed them. Look into my 
heart, and see that I thought only of you, while I 
believed papa had forgotten you.’ 

44 4 1 know all that. I can read your thoughts, my 
child, and I have come to point out to you the right 
course to ensure your own happiness. Return to your 
home — witness what is to take place there, for I have 
no jealousy on my own account : I have passed beyond 
that phase of earthly feeling. But I have deep concern 
for my children, and with her who will be your earthly 
mother you will be contented and beloved. Go back 
to her and heal the wounds your ingratitude has in- 
flicted. Only by doing so can you win forgivness in 
Heaven and a blessing on the life that lies before you.’ 

44 1 sobbed : 

44 4 1 will obey you, mamma. I will try to do right, 
if you will kiss me once more.’ 

44 She seemed to float down nearer and nearer, and I 
hoped she was about to gather me to her heart, and 
bear me away to the spirit land ; but she only touched 
my lips with hers, and then faintly whispered : 4 Pray 

for strength, my darling,’ and the phantasy dissolved, 


LOUISE REPENTANT. 


451 


and I lay wide awake, staring through the darkness, 
but with my lips thrilling still with the kiss that had 
been impressed upon them. 

“ I was not frightened, though for a little while I 
firmly believed that mamma had been actually near me. 
I now know that she came to me only in a dream, but it 
was one that was too vivid to be passed over as others 
are. I got up, knelt down by the bed, and prayed 
earnestly to be helped to do right. I did not go to 
sleep for a long time afterwards. I lay awake, review- 
ing all my wayward conduct, and repenting of it. A 
new feeling came into my heart, which made me 
humbly ask : 

44 4 What right have I to claim to be first with those 
I. love — I, who have done so little to merit affection ? 9 

44 1 remembered the wrangling of the Disciples as to 
who should be first in heaven, and I took to myself the 
rebuke of the Divine Master. For the first time I 
felt how deeply I have sinned against His precepts — 
how unworthy I am of His care, and of the affection 
shown for me by those to whom he has delegated the 
charge of my life. 

44 1 no longer feel aggrieved that I am not of para- 
mount importance to you, though I begin dimly to 
comprehend that my own self-assertion was the true 
source of my anger on mamma’s account. I knew she 
was happy in heaven, yet I insisted that you should 
make yourself a martyr of constancy to her memory. 

44 Forgive me, papa, and love me as in other days 
— I know that Aunt Ada will, for she has held open a 
door of reconciliation from the first which I might have 
entered long ago if I had not been the most perverse 
of mortals. 


452 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I am coming to Seaview with Madame S , and 

I cannot tell you how delighted she was with the 
change in my feelings. She has been kind to me, but 
very exacting, as you required ; but you must not 
think it was the hard tasks that brought me to submis- 
sion. I should have gone on learning them with a 
bitter aching in my heart, if mamma had not come to 
me and pointed out a better way. 

“ Your repentant and affectionate Louise.” 

Tears were standing in Mr. Balfour’s eyes when he 
stopped reading, and he silently offered the letter to 
Miss Digby. At a sign from her, Alice approached 
and looked over her shoulder, and together they read 
the lines Louise had written. 

There was silence among them for a few moments, 
and then Alice said, with a slight tremor in her voice 
that she ineffectually tried to put down : 

“ Lou. was always famous for her dreams, you know, 
papa, but this is the most significant one she has ever 
had. I am most happy that something has brought her 
to a sense of her duty to you and to Aunt Ada.” 

The father kissed her, and huskily said : 

“ I am going to the dear child myself to assure her 
how lovingly she is forgiven — how gladly we will wel- 
come her to our hearts again. I shall be back by 
Thursday afternoon, bringing Louise and Madame 
S with me.” 

Miss Digby smilingly said : 

“ You can go now , without compromising your dig- 
nity or authority, and I warmly second the proposed 
journey. Say everything that is kind and affectionate 
for me, and assure our young absentee that no refer- 


FACE TO FACE ONCE MORE. 453 

ence will be made to what happened before she went 
away.” 

“ Tell her, too, papa, that I have been completely 
lost without her, and I cannot express how glad I am 
that she is coming back,” said Alice. “ I would not 
say that to her in my letters, because I thought she 
would not believe me — but she will now, and be glad 
to know it too.” 

There was yet time to reach the station before the 
twelve train passed, and Mr. Balfour hastened to pre- 
pare for his brief journey. In parting he said to Miss 
Digby : 

“ The only cloud on our future has lifted, Ada, and 
I am most grateful on your account that Louise prom- 
ises to give you no more annoyance. She will be a 
charge to you, but I believe she will hereafter try to 
do right.” 

“ I can trust her and love her well enough to do for 
her all that can develop her native goodness and truth,” 
she replied, with a smile, and he went away thinking 
himself among the most fortunate of men — as he cer- 
tainly was. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

FACE TO FACE ONCE MORE. 

B Y Wednesday afternoon all the preparations for 
the modest bridal were completed, and Miss 
Digby had retired to her own room to rest after the 
fatigues of the day, for she had superintended every- 
thing herself. 


454 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


A letter was brought in to her which she read with 
some surprise, and more interest. It was from Walter 
Thorne, and read as follows : 

Beach House, July 31, 18-r-. 

My Dear Ada : — You will think this a very famil- 
iar address after what has passed within the last four 
years, but I have buried the dagger, and I hope that 
you are equally ready to forgive and forget. 

“ I acknowledge that I treated you discourteously, 
but in those days I had much to aggravate me and 
make my temper more difficult to manage than it 
naturally is ; though Heaven knows — and so do you — 
that it is bad enough at the best. I don’t try to make 
myself out better than I am, but I am not quite such 
a wretch as some people think me. 

“ I hope that a better day is dawning for me ; that 
sweeter influences may come into my life than any I 
have lately known. I have long wished to see you 
and speak with you on a subject of vital interest to 
me, but I did not know how to reopen the intercourse 
so abruptly closed by myself, with any prospect of 
having my advances tolerated. The invitation to your 
approaching marriage which was kindly given me by 
Mr. Balfour afforded the opportunity I so earnestly 
desired, and I accepted it at once. 

“ I have established myself at the village hotel for a 
few days, as I did not wish to impose myself upon you 
as a guest during my stay. I shall attend your wed- 
ding, and as your nearest kinsman, give you away, if 
you will permit me to do so. I shall do this with great 
pleasure, feeling that in some measure the wrong com- 
mitted so long ago against yourself and Mr. Balfour is 


FACE TO FACE ONCE MORE. 


455 


at length righted, and those brought together who 
should never have been severed by a ruthless and 
unscrupulous act on the part of my father. 

44 1 write this to ask you to assist me to right another 
wrong which was committed at his command. I am 
most anxious to ascertain from you if you have main- 
tained a correspondence with that unhappy girl who 
was placed under your care by myself so many years 
ago ? If you can afford me a clue to her present place 
of residence, I shall be glad, for I have long wished to 
meet her again, and if I find it possible to re-light the 
flame she once inspired we may follow the example of 
yourself and Mr. Balfour. 

44 Will you receive me for half an hour this evening ? 
I shall esteem it a great favor if you will, and I prom- 
ise not to trespass beyond the time named. 

44 Respectfully, W. Thorne. 

In her eagerness to show this request to Claire, Miss 
Digby forgot her weariness. She hastily dispatched a 
line to Thorne, requesting him to come to the cottage 
at eight o’clock, and then went to her friend. 

She found Claire quietly reading a new novel, and 
with a radiant smile her friend said : 

44 Put aside your book, my dear. I have something 
that is far more exciting for your perusal.” 

Claire languidly extended her hand, but when her 
eyes fell upon the writing so long unfamiliar to them, 
she started up flushing crimson. Miss Digby sat 
down and watched her as she read the lines relating to 
herself. Her lip curled half disdainfully, and her 
brows contracted. When she had finished, she calmly 
refolded the letter and gave it back to her friend. 


456 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Finding that she did not speak, Miss Digby impatiently 
said : 

“ W ell, Claire, what do you think of this opening to 
a reconciliation with Walter, and a re-union on a safer 
basis than the one you propose? ” 

“I think it very characteristic of Mr. Thorne to 
make his tardy justice conditional on the impression 
made upon himself by the object of his compassion. 
He retains some sentimental reminiscences of that 
period of his life, and if he finds his deserted wife as 
attractive as he wishes her to be, he may deign to 
throw her the handkerchief. I am not to be accepted 
on such terms, A^a, and I shall adhere to my own 
plans. When he comes, you may tell him of my life 
in Paris — of the lovers that surrounded me ; of the gay 
and brilliant role I played ; and leave him to infer that 
the heart of such a butterfly of fashion has no place 
left in it for him. I will cast my spells over him here, 
and if I find that he still adheres to his intention of 
seeking me in France, I promise you to tell him the 
truth and forego the retaliation I have planned. But 
you must give him no hint — you must leave me to play 
out my own comedy to the end.” 

“ Is this your irrevocable determination, Claire ? ” 

“ It is — I wish to test the sincerity of his desire for 
atonement. If he is led away from it by the attraction 
of one he believes a stranger, I shall know how much 
it is worth.” 

“ But if you marry him, that knowledge will not 
increase your chances of happiness.” 

“ I do not expect such an impossibility — I ask only 
for justice at Mr. Thorne’s hands, and I must attain it 
in my own way. I am glad he is coming hither this 


FACE TO FACE ONCE MORE. 


457 


evening. I will walk on the beach with Alice, and 
return in time to be presented to him before he leaves. 
Manage so that our first interview shall take place on 
the portico where the moonlight will not betray any 
change in my expression. For seventeen years I have 
dragged the chain with which he fettered me, and now 
he shall feel some of its weight himself.” 

Miss Digby sighed, and arose from her seat — she 
said — “ I will aid you to regain your position as 
Walter’s wife, since I see your heart is set on it ; but 
I do it with the conviction that you will both yet find 
peace, and content with each other. If I did not 
think so, I should have many qualms of conscience for 
consenting to countenance the deception you are so 
eager to carry out.” 

The door closed on her, as she ceased speaking, and 
Claire started up, all her inertia gone, her cheeks glow- 
ing, her eyes sparkling with triumph — she paced the 
floor rapidly for many moments in silence, but she 
paused at length beside a window, and pantingly 
muttered : 

“ He comes to be vanquished, and I shall be the 
victor. Yet if he would not succumb — if he would 
only remain true to his present intention, I could for- 
give him — could take him back with the same love I 
once felt. But if he yields — if he yields to my fasci- 
nations believing me to be other than I am, I will crush 
my own heart sooner than respond to his passion after 
the little month of bliss I have awarded him has pass- 
ed away. I will pay him back in his own coin, and 
base as it is, it will be good en'ough for him.” 

She threw herself upon a sofa, and buried her face 
in the pillows trying to compose the tumultuous throb- 


458 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


bing of her heart, and regain perfect self-control before 
the hour for meeting Thorne arrived. 

Claire was so far successful that when she appeared 
at supper, her friend could perceive no traces of the 
struggle through which she had passed, except that she 
was a little paler than usual. Miss Digby noticed that 
she had made an exquisite toilette, and looked unusual- 
ly lovely even for her. 

It was past seven when they arose from the table, 
and Claire said to Alice : 

“ Let us walk on the beach, my dear, while Ada 
receives an old friend who is coming to call on her. 
We can return in time to be presented to him.” 

Alice gladly assented, and the two presently issued 
from the gate, the young girl wearing a wide-brimmed 
hat, and her companion draped in a black lace mantle 
which was thrown over her head in the Spanish 
fashion. 

As they moved toward the beach a gentleman was 
seen approaching the house they had left ; he was 
walking forward very leisurely, occasionally kicking 
the pebbles upon his path, and seemed to be in no par- 
ticular hurry to keep his appointment. 

“Why should he be anxious to learn the where- 
abouts of a woman to whom he had been worse than 
indifferent for so many years,” was the bitter thought 
of Claire, for she knew this must be Walter Thorne. 
“ He only wishes to make his peace with Ada by pre- 
tending to feel a desire to do what is right, now that 
he has the power to act for himself. Well — we shall 
soon see what will come of it all.” 

They passed within a few yards of each other, and 
Thorne lifted his hat to them. In that brief glance, 


FACE TO FACE ONCE MORE. 


459 


Claire saw how little he had changed. In his maturity 
he was even handsomer, she thought, than in his early 
youth, and for a moment, the old glamour returned, 
and she could have sprang toward him as of old, and 
buried her head upon the breast which had once so 
tenderly sheltered it. But the impulse passed as 
quickly as it arose ; the gulf again opened between 
them, and slightly bowing, she folded her veil over her 
face, and walked rapidly onward. 

Thorne paused a moment and looked after them. 

“ What a graceful woman,” he thought — “ she steps 
like a goddess — and the girl is pretty too — Old Balfour’s 
daughter I suppose, but the other must be some new 
friend of Ada’s. I hope she is handsome and agreea- 
ble, or this wedding will be a dead bore to me. I 
would never have come to it at all but for my desire 
to find out what she can tell me about Claire. Pshaw ! 
why do I cling to that memory ? — she may have found 
some one to console her long ago.” 

He resumed his walk, humming a favorite air, and 
presently entered the yard, and sauntered toward the 
house. Miss Digby came out to receive him, and they 
shook hands with each other as quietly as if they had 
met the week before. She said : 

“ It is pleasanter on the portico this warm evening, 
and I have had chairs brought out. Shall we sit here, 
or do you prefer going in ? ” 

“Let us remain here, by all means. There is a 
pretty view of the sea, and the moon will be rising 
over it presently.” 

After he was seated, he went on : 

“ I am much obliged to you, Ada, for according me 
your forgiveness. I behaved like a brute the last time 


460 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


we met, but I thought I had cause to complain of you, 
and my temper got the upperhand of me, as you know 
it is apt to do. Since those days I have been sorry for 
many things I did, and I would have made the amende 
long ago if I had known how to set about it. You 
may imagine how glad I was to accept the olive branch 
held out by Mr. Balfour, though he was not aware of 
the service he was doing me.” 

“ I have forgiven you long ago Walter, and I would 
have served you if you had allowed me to do so. I 
wished to take May under my care, but you would not 
consent. If you desired a reconciliation with me, why 
did you not avail yourself of the offer I made you, 
when I heard of the death of Agnes, to receive her 
here ?” 

Thorne frowned and bit his lip at this straight- 
forward question. He coldly said : 

“ I had some such thought at first, but May offend- 
ed me by setting herself in opposition to my wishes 
with reference to an affair that was important to me. 
I spoke in anger to her, and told her she should remain 
at Thornhill till she showed a proper respect for me. 
That is why I declined the offer you made, Ada, but 
I was not ungrateful for it, though in my vexation 
toward my daughter, I replied more curtly than I 
should.” 

“ Who is the companion of May, for of course you 
have not left her through all these months with no 
lady to take charge of her ? ” 

Miss Digby knew perfectly well that he had done so, 
but she chose to assume that even Walter Thorne 
would be incapable of such treatment to his only child. 
He flushed, and impatiently replied : 


FACE TO FACE ONCE MORE. 


461 


“ For a few months May was without a governess ; 
but I have lately found a lady suited to the position, 
and she is now established at Thornhill. I have not 
yet received from my daughter the submission that I 
exact, or I should have brought her hither with me. 
You need have no fears on her account, Ada, for she is 
well looked after by Mrs. Black.” i 

“ I am happy to hear it,” drily replied Miss Digby, 
“ for I have thought a great deal of her lonely position 
since the death of her mother. I hoped that May 
would have written to me herself, but she has not done 
so.” 

With apparent frankness, Thorne said : 

“ She wished me to invite you to*take up your abode 
at Thornhill, but I knew that to be impossible while 
you retained the charge of Mr. Balfour’s daughters. 
If May -bad shown a proper respect for my wishes, I 
would have brought her to you myself, and entreated 
you to receive her, also ; but she is her mother’s own 
child, and — and I believe she regards me as her natural 
enemy.” 

His companion cast a penetrating glance at him, 
which said, plainly enough : 

“ If such is the fact, is it not your own fault ? ” but 
she did not speak the words which she knew would be 
so offensive to him. She only said : 

“ I wish there was yet time to bring her hither before 
a change is made — but we go next week to Cape May, 
and if you choose, May can join our party there.” 

“We will settle about that hereafter,” was the curt 
reply. “ I did not come hither to be catechized about 
May, for she has annoyed me so much that I do not 
care to think of her when I can help it. Who were 


462 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


the two ladies I met going to the beach as I came 
hither ? ” 

“ The younger one was Alice Balfour — her compan- 
ion is a friend of mine, who has recently returned from 
a tour in Europe. You will find Madame L’Epine a 
very accomplished and elegant woman — and she has 
had a great desire to see you.” 

“ To see me ! then perhaps, while in Europe, she 

may have met with Ada, I came hither to ask if you 

will tell me all you know of Claire. You have corres- 
ponded with her, I suppose ? Where is she ? What 
has she been doing through this long interval of time 
in which I have refrained from seeking to know any- 
thing about her ? ” 

“ I can tell you this much, Walter : she did not break 
her heart over your desertion,” said Miss Digby, with 
a little spice of malice, good woman as she was. 
“ Claire sensibly accepted the position thrust upon her, 
and made the best of it. She went to Paris, as you 
know, and sought out her brother ; he was a wealthy 
banker, and he used his fortune magnificently for the 
gratification of his young sister. M. Latour had no 
family of his own, and he lavished on Claire everything 
that money could command. He settled on her an 
estate of greater value than the one your father be- 
lieved Agnes would possess ; and if he had been aware 
of Claire’s existence before she arrived in Paris, he 
would have dowered her so nobly that even Colonel 
Thorne must have been reconciled to the romantic 
marriage you made.” 

“ All of which only proves what blind, short-sighted 
creatures we are. If it is true that all mortals have a 
good and an evil angel contending forever for the mas- 


FACE TO FACE ONCE MORE. 


463 


tery over them, the latter must often have got the best 
of it when the battle was fought over me. My life 
has been a sad failure, Ada, for I have brought misery 
to others, and, in so doing, have made myself wretched. 
I do not attempt to play the character of a puling sen- 
timentalist for the purpose of enlisting your sympa- 
thies, for I hardly deserve that they shall be wasted 
upon me ; but I should have been a better man if such 
adverse influences had not been brought to bear upon 
me.” 

“I believe that, Walter; — I can do you that much 
justice ; though I think you might have found more 
contentment in your last marriage had you acted differ- 
ently toward poor Agnes. She loved you devotedly 
when she became your wife.” 

With sudden passion, Thorne said: 

“ It is easy to reason about the actions of others, 
and condemn them, although the censors would have 
done no better, had they been placed in the same posi- 
tion. You understand human nature, Ada Digby, and 
you must know that the very devotion of a woman 
who was forced on my acceptance was distasteful to 
me — that it aroused in me the tyrant’s will to crush 
her who had been instrumental in destroying my first 
beautiful dream of love and constancy to the one 
woman I have ever loved. If Agnes had not presumed 
to act the part of the injured party, when she discover- 
ed the truth, I might have acted differently — I think I 
should ; but her temper was as bitter as mine, and — 
well, you know the result, and we will not speak of it.” 

“ No — let us not speak of what is irrevocable. Do 
you wish me to understand that you still cherish your 
early preference for Claire, Walter? ” 


464 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Thorne hesitated a moment, and then said : 

“ I can scarcely assert so much as that. If I could 
see her again as lovely, as bewitching, and as much 
devoted to me as in those early days, I would gladly 
return to my old allegiance ; but from what you said 
just now, I am led to believe that Claire has stifled all 
memory of that bitter past, and she may, long ere this, 
have found some one to console her for my desertion. ” 

“ She has led a gay and brilliant life, but she has 
not married again, if that is what you mean. ,, 

“ But she must have had many lovers. So beautiful 
a creature as Claire was, placed in the position you 
describe, can scarcely have remained true to her first 
love, even if she has not chosen to give her hand to 
any of her adorers. I have thought of her a great deal 
since Agnes died. My first impulse was to seek her 
out ; but I reflected that it might be only to meet the 
scorn and contempt I am sure she feels for him who 
had not the courage to defy opposition, and stand by 
the pledges he had made. My fate has been a very 
untoward one, Ada, but I have myself to blame for it, 
as much as the tyrannical will of my father. ,, 

“ If you seek Claire in good faith, Walter — if you 
are willing to restore her to her true position, even if 
she is not so attractive as in those early days, she may 
be touched by your return to your old love, and receive 
you kindly. But I must tell you that her brother died 
a ruined man, and she sacrificed the greater portion of 
her own settlement to liquidate the debts he left behind 
him.” 

After a pause he replied : 

“ If I can arrange my affairs here, I shall go to 
Europe in a few months. When I have seen Claire, 


FACE TO FACE ONCE MORE. 


465 


and understand my own wishes better than I do now, 
I shall decide as to my course of action. I wished 
very earnestly to learn something of her from you, but 
she may be so much changed in every respect from 
what she was, that — that — the dead love may not again 
spring to life in either her heart or mine.” 

“ As to the last I cannot answer, of course ; but 
that she is still considered an attractive and charming 
woman I can assure you on the authority of my friend, 
Madame L’Epine.” 

“ She knew her then — has. met with her in society ? ” 

“ Yes — she knows her intimately — in fact I believe 
that there is some tie of relationship between them.” 

“ What induced Miss Digby to say this she could 
hardly have explained herself. She found herself 
unconsciously taking sides with her friend against the 
man who wavered in the manly and straightforward 
course which would have saved him from playing the 
part that had been decreed to him by the woman he 
was incapable of considering before himself. His 
egotistical fears that the object of his early passion 
would prove less adorable — less easy of approach, than 
the trusting child whose opening life had been blighted 
by him, disgusted her, and took from her all desire to 
thwart the wishes of Claire. 

By her last assertion she prepared Thorne for any 
resemblance he might detect between his repudiated 
wife and the lady who was so soon to be presented to 
him as a stranger ; for Miss Digby began to think that 
it would be best for Claire to win him without allow- 
ing a suspicion of her identity to dawn upon him. If 
he approved her, he would condescend to repair the 
wrong of which she had been the victim ; if not the 
29 


466 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


inference was obvious, that he would act as if the past 
had never been. 

Her kindly heart hardened toward him ; she remem- 
bered all his harshness to Agnes, and she thought that 
he merited retribution, if ever a man did. From that 
moment she surrendered him to Claire to work her 
spell on, either for weal or for woe. She would re- 
main passive, and hold sacred the confidence reposed 
in her. 

Thorne asked with some appearance of interest. 

“ Is there any family resemblance between this lady 
and Claire ? I was not aware that she had any rela- 
tions in this country.” 

“ Madame L’Epine was born in Virginia, and was 
one of the Courtnay family,” replied Miss Digby, with 
perfect coolness. “ You know that Claire’s mother was 
also a Miss Courtnay. I can imagine that, at her age, 
Claire would look very much as Madame L’Epine now 
does.” 

“ Then I can form some idea of what changes have 
taken place in ma belle Rosebud, as I used to call her,” 
he replied, with a light laugh. “ But I can hardly 
expect the mature flower from which the first glory 
has; departed, to be as captivating as the rose with all 
its sweetest leaves unfolded.” 

“ You can ^oon judge for yourself, for I hear the 
voice of Alice, and in a few moments she will be here.” 

Two figures came up the walk : the full moon had 
risen and was casting long level beams of light over 
the restless sea and illuminating the portico on which 
Miss Digby and her guest sat. Thorne scarcely glanced 
at Alice ; his whole attention was concentrated on her 
companion, and he thought he had never seen sq grace- 


FACE TO FACE ONCE MORE. 


467 


ful a woman as Claire came forward with perfect com- 
mand of face and mien, though her heart was throb- 
bing as if it would burst from her bosom. She had 
suffered the shrouding folds of lace to fall back from 
her head, and as she stepped upon the portico the moon- 
light revealed her fair face fully to those upon it. Miss 
Digby marvelled at its serene repose, and Thorne was, 
for a moment, bewildered by the throng of thoughts 
and feelings that rushed upon him. This woman, 
lovely as a poet’s ideal — graceful and self-possessed as 
a marble Diana, a fair representative of what Claire 
might have become in the lapse of years ! Impossible ! 
It was simply absurd for Miss Digby to have suggested 
such a thing. She did not look more than five and 
twenty at the utmost, and Claire must be over thirty. 

Such were the thoughts that rushed through Walter 
Thorne’s mind as he arose and drew forward seats for 
the two who had just entered. He was dazzled, be- 
wildered by the vision of loveliness before him, but he 
could see little of the resemblance of which Miss Digby 
had spoken. He recalled an impassioned, unformed 
child, bewitching in her young beauty, but this was a 
mature and most exquisite type of woman, with an air 
of repose and high breeding in striking contrast to the 
impulsive being who had won his first love. She was 
taller by several inches than the Claire he remembered, 
and there was a depth and richness in the tones of her 
voice unknown to it in those early days in which she 
set Walter Thorne upon a pedestal and worshipped 
him as the embodiment of all that is noble in man. 

When the introduction was over, and they were all 
seated, Claire was the first to speak : 

“ I am happy to meet with you, Mr. Thorne, for 


468 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


you are not so much of a stranger to me as you may 
suppose. I have heard you often spoken of, and I had 
a desire to see you before I again leave this country.’ , 

“ I am sure I am much flattered, Madame, that you 
should entertain such a desire : that is, if it is not the 
offspring of curiosity alone, and the wish to judge for 
yourself of a man who has had little good said of him, 
I am afraid. I may not merit all the censures that 
have been lavished upon me, but I deserve enough of 
them to render me very grateful for the good opinion 
of the few who still look on me as worthy of their 
friendship.” , 

“ He who can make friends must also make ene- 
mies,” replied Claire, with her enchanting smile. 

And the dark eyes that were lifted to his thrilled 
through him as if he had received an electric shock. 
She dropped them, and went on : 

“ I never form my judgments from hearsay, es- 
pecially of those in whom I am interested. I like origi- 
nality, and even a spice of diablerie in a strong nature 
does not appal me. But pray excuse me ; I am speak- 
ing as if we were old acquaintances instead of being in 
the first stage of what I hope will prove an agreeable 
and lasting friendship. You may judge from that if 
the person who spoke of you to me endeavored to pre- 
judice me against you.” 

“ I am sure I am much obliged to — to that person, 
whoever it may have been,” Thorne replied, with some 
embarrassment. “ The friendship of a fair lady accus- 
tomed to every homage from my sex is an honor I 
scarcely merit ; but as it is so generously offered, I 
shall be most happy to lay claim to so precious a boon.” 

“ Thank you for accepting my banter. I have a 


FACE TO FACE ONCE MORE. 469 

m 

cause to win when we are well enough acquainted for 
me to approach you as a true friend.” 

Thorne bowed deferentially, and replied : 

“No cause advocated by Madame L’Epine is likely 
to fail. I am only too highly honored by the interest 
you manifest in my affairs.” 

“ Take care ; do not pledge yourself to more than 
you may be willing to perform,” she replied, with an 
air of gay badinage which he found infinitely fascina- 
ting. 

Then turning to Miss Digby, Claire changed the 
subject : 

“ Is not this an exquisite night ? I felt tempted to 
walk for hours on the beach, but I remembered that 
you did not wish Alice to linger too long in the night 
air, and I thought it best to come back.” 

“ That was well remembered, my dear, for I wish 
both yourself and Alice to be in perfect health and 
spirits to-morrow evening. Beautiful as the night is, 
a faint mist is beginning to rise from the water, and I 
think we had better go into the house.” 

“ Not quite yet,” Claire entreated. “ This moon- 
light is so enchanting, that I shrink from exchanging 
it for the glare of the lamp.” 

Miss Digby yielded, and the conversation flowed on, 
each one bearing a part in it, for half an hour longer. 
Then the visitor reluctantly arose, and said : 

“ I will not trespass on your hospitality longer to- 
night, Ada, although I find myself in a more congenial 
atmosphere than any in which I have lately lived. I 
thank you again most heartily for the chance to renew 
the peace between us, and I assure you that on my 
side it shall not be endangered again. I intend to fol- 


4T0 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


low the advice my old nurse used to give me, and turn 
over a new leaf in my life, on which I hope to inscribe 
something better than has gone before.” 

Miss Digby gave him her hand, and cordially re- 
plied : 

“If you are true to your pledge, Walter, no one 
will rejoice in it more than myself. I shall expect you 
to-morrow evening, and I grant the request you made 
to act as my nearest kinsman. Good-night.” 

“ Good-night,” fell from the lips of Claire, as she 
bowed, smiled, and lifted a bewildering glance to his 
face. She saw that he flushed even in the pale moon- 
light, and with a sense of triumph mingled with pain, 
she felt that the first step toward the victory for which 
she had so sedulously prepared herself had been taken. 

She stood watching his retreating figure till the gate 
closed on him, and then with a faint sigh turned to 
Alice, who was saying : 

“ What a distinguished-looking man Mr. Thorne is. 
I am sure no one would think that he has a daughter 
nearly as old as I am. Will he bring her with him 
to-morrow, Aunt Ada ? ” 

“ No, my dear ; but I hope that we can induce him 
to bring May to us when we are settled at Cape May. 
I should like to have her with me, for I take a deep 
interest in her.” 

“ If Madame L’Epine asks him to do so, I believe 
he will,” said Alice, mischievously. “ I think he was 
evidently charmed by her, for he looked at and listened 
to her as if he had no thought for anyone else near 
him.” 

“ Jealous, petite laughed Claire, tapping her on the 
cheek with an affectation of playfulness she was far 


FACE TO FACE ONCE MORE. 471 

from feeling at that moment. “ I am not sure that he 
will not prefer your budding charms after all to my 
more mature ones. Men of his age are apt to admire 
the sweet simplicity of early youth.” 

“ He is hardly old enough for that. Mr. Thorne 
does not look more than thirty, though I suppose he is 
a few years older.” 

“ I dare say he would be immensely flattered if he 
heard you say that, Alice, for he is nearer forty than 
thirty. I agree with you that he is handsome and 
distingue , but a man should be something more than 
that.” 

“Yes, good and true like papa ; and Mr. Thorne is 
gay, reckless, what some people call fast, I have heard. 
But he is very agreeable for all that. Don’t you think 
so, Madame ? If you don’t, you are very ungrateful, 
for he evidently admires you very much.” 

“ So much the worse for him then,” said Claire, with 
another laugh that sounded strangely to the young 
girl, and she more gravely said : 

“ Pardon me for attempting to banter you on such a 
subject. I am too young to take such a liberty ; but 
you are so good to me that I forgot myself.” 

Claire kissed her, and gayly said : 

“ No harm has been done, my dear ; and you know 
that I allow you to speak to me with perfect freedom. 
Let us go in, for the night is becoming chilly.” 

She shivered as she spoke, and drew her lace mantle 
over her shoulders. Alice threw her arm caressingly 
around her, and they followed Miss Dig by, who had 
already gone in, and was waiting for them in the hall. 

Daily intercourse with Claire for the few past weeks 
had awakened in the heart of Alice one of those en- 


472 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


thusiastic attachments often felt by a young girl on the 
threshold of life for a brilliant and beautiful woman of 
mature years. They were fast friends, for Claire also 
found much to interest her in the affectionate and 
simple-hearted girl who so naively expressed her admi- 
ration for herself. 

They went into the library, and Claire sat down 
before the open piano, and dashed into a piece of 
music, which well expressed the state of her own soul. 
It was yet too early to retire, and feeling herself inca- 
pable of taking part in any conversation however 
trivial, she took refuge in music, mechanically playing 
piece after piece with such brilliancy and power as 
even she rarely displayed. 

When ten o’clock rang out from the bronze timepiece 
on the mantel, she abruptly rose and said : 

“ I believe I will retire now, for I am afraid that I 
have wearied you both with playing so long.” 

“ I have enjoyed it,” said Miss Digby, quietly, “ and 
so, I am sure, has Alice. I have never heard you play 
with such brilliancy before.” 

“ You must have thrown your soul into the music to 
produce such an effect,” said Alice ; “ but I think it 
must be a very stormy soul, in spite of the beauty of 
the night.” 

Claire looked at her with eyes glittering with excite- 
ment, and laughing faintly, said : 

“You will never understand the inspiration of that^ 
music, Alice, for your nature and mine are wide as the 
poles asunder. When you say your prayers to-night, 
thank Heaven that it is so, my dear, for you are formed 
for quiet happiness, and I feel at this moment as if I 
were born to dwell in a tornado, and scatter lightnings 


FACE TO FACE ONCE MORE. 


473 


with reckless disregard as to where the bolt may- 
strike.” 

Alice looked at her with wondering eyes, but she 
made no reply, for Miss Digby arose, and said : 

“ The fatigues of the day have been too much for 
you, Claire, and you are in one of your moods. Let us 
retire at once. Good night, Alice — I will come to 
your room before you are asleep, but I wish to talk 
with Madame L’Epine alone a few moments.” 

Claire had gone to the open window, and was leaning 
from it that the cool air of night might allay the fever 
in the blood that seemed seething in her veins. Alice 
did not venture to approach her, for the hand of Miss 
Digby warned her not to do so. She left the room, 
wondering what had occurred to produce such a state 
of excitement in the calm and stately woman she so 
much admired.” 

When she was gone, Miss Digby drew near the 
window, and softly said : 

“ My dear Claire, this meeting has been too much 
for you. Yet you bore yourself so gracefully and 
naturally through the ordeal, that I own it surprises 
me to see you give way so suddenly now.” 

Claire looked around with a face as colorless as 
marble, and almost as rigid. She saw that Alice had 
left them, and she made a step towards Miss Digby, 
and threw herself into her arms, with a sobbing cry 
that seemed to be rent from the depths of her soul. 

It was many moment before she could speak, and 
her friend almost carried her to a sofa, and sat down 
beside her, still supporting her shuddering form. 

At length, in faint, broken tones, she said : 

“ Oh ! Ada, it was worse than death to sit before 


474 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


him calm to all outward seeming, and remember those 
days in whioh we were all in all to each other ; to feel 
that we were so near, yet so far apart, almost maddened 
me. Yet I betrayed nothing — tell me, did I give him 
cause to suspect anything ? ” 

44 No. I marveled at your composure, and wondered 
at your daring in speaking as you did to him when you 
first met.” 

44 Ah ! that is part of my plan you know. I am to 
use my influence to bring him back to his first allegi- 
ance, and if he would only prove true, and honorable, 
I would forego my revenge — yes, forego it — and be 
glad to make him a happier and, perhaps, a better man. 
But he will not, Ada ! He will give up all thoughts 
of the injured wife, and seek his own gratification, as 
he always has done, at the sacrifice of principle. 
Already has a new passion been kindled in his heart 
for one he believes a stranger. He will leave poor 
Claire to be ‘ whistled down the wind a prey to for- 
tune,’ while he suns himself in the smiles of the one 
he is ready to give her as a rival, unconscious that the 
two are identical.” 

44 Well, my dear, why should you complain of that? 
If Walter has conceived so sudden a passion for you, 
it only proves that you are his true mate, and great 
was the iniquity that separated you. Do not be too 
exacting, Claire, but accept the late atonement, even if 
it is offered to you as a stranger.” 

Claire raised her head, and with sudden self-control, 
said : 

44 Yes, I shall accept it, as I have already assured 
you. But it would be well for him to listen to my 
pleadings in behalf of his deserted wife. If he did that, 


THE WEDDING. 


475 


I would reveal myself to him, ask his forgiveness for 
all I have planned to torture him in his turn, and try 
to make him happy. But he will not, Ada, you will 
see — you will see.” 

There was sharp anguish in the tone in which the 
last words were uttered, and she burst in tears. 

Miss Digby said all that was possible to soothe her, 
and bring her back to calmness, but it was long before 
she succeeded. When they at last separated for the 
night, the last words of Claire to her friend were : 

“ Remember that my secret must be kept at all 
hazards. I must try him, and if there is any gold left 
in the dross of his nature, he will respond to my wishes. 
If there is not — then God help me ! ” 

Echoing the passionate prayer, Miss Digby kissed 
her, and left her at the door of her own chamber. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE WEDDING. 

O N the following morning there was a joyful re- 
union at Seaview cottage. Louise arrived, ac- 

accompanied by Madame S ; but Mr. Balfour 

stopped at the village hotel with the Episcopal clergy- 
man he had brought with him to perform the cere- 
mony. 

Louise was looking delicate and slightly worn — but 
she was her old affectionate self; and the way she 
clung to Miss Digby proved that her late feelings 
toward her had undergone an entire revolution. As 
her friend held her in her arms, the child whispered : 


476 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Dear mother , if you were not the best woman in 
the world, you could not so freely and fully forgive 
your wayward child. I am yours now in heart — in 
everything ; and to make myself like you in goodness 
and sweetness of nature is my first wish. Since I wrote 
that letter I have dreamed again of my own mamma, and 
she smiled on me as only an angel spirit can smile, and 
whispered to my inner sense : 4 At last you are on the 
right path, my darling ; guided by the loving heart 
that seeks to influence you only for your own good, you 
will find the pearl of great price, and through its reno- 
vating power, mature into noble and true woman- 
hood.’ ” 

Miss Digby clasped her more tenderly to her heart, 
and kissing her on brow and lips, fervently said : 

“ I accept the charge thus delegated to me, Louise, 
and I will be to you all that your own mother could 
have been had she lived to watch over you.” 

She released her and advanced to welcome Madame 

S ; for in her impatience to see her friends again, 

Louise had sprung from the carriage as soon as it 
stopped, and rushed toward the house with all the im- 
petuosity of her nature. 

The French woman was presented to Claire ; and 
delighted to find one who knew Paris so well and 
spoke her own language so charmingly, she soon 
plunged into an animated conversation, and in an hour 
was so much at home that she began to busy herself in 
helping to arrange the flowers with which Claire had 
undertaken to decorate the rooms. 

Alice went with her sister to their own apartment ; 
and Louise, after taking off her hat and mantle, turned 
to her, and throwing her arms around her, said : 


THE WEDDING. 


477 


“ You have not told me yet that you forgive me for 
all I did before I went away, Alice. I will tell you 
the truth, sister, as a just penance. 

“ I was afraid that you would be best loved by our 
new mother, and I coaid not bear the thought that both 
papa and you should come before me, I was jealous of 
everything. I hated to have mamma’s place filled, 
because papa would care more for the new wife than 
he did for me ; because you would give her more love 
than you could afford to me. Was it not selfish and 
base to feel so ? But I am getting over that — I am 
trying to deserve to be loved, and then I shall have as 
much love as I have a right to.” 

“ Oh, Lou., we all love you dearly, be sure of that 
— we would do anything for you ; and if you will only 
keep in this reasonable frame of mind, we shall be as 
happy together as people are in fairy tales. You must 
not speak pf yourself as base, for there is no such taint 
in your true and affectionate nature.” 

The communion between the sisters was long and 
tender, but at length Alice arose from the sofa on 
which they sat, clasped in each other’s arms, and said : 

“ Come, dear, we must not forget others in the joy of 
our reunion. I promised to assist Madame L’Epine to 
decorate the rooms with flowers, and you must lend us 
the aid of your nimble fingers, too.” 

“ Oh, how gladly I will do it, Alice. I feel like a 
bird released from its cage, and in place of waiting and 
gnashing my teeth as I thought I would the day papa 
got married again, I could dance for joy. You don’t 
know how kind he was to me — how tender, even when 
I was so naughty. When he came for me the other 
day, I felt ashamed to meet him ; but he soon made 


478 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


me feel that I was so completely forgiven that he 
would not even remember how severely I had tried 
him. He took me to Philadelphia, and allowed me to 
choose such beautiful things for myself ! ” 

“Neither did Aunt Ada forget you, Louise. She 
thought all the time that you would come to your 
right senses before the wedding, and she had dresses 
made up for you as handsomely as mine. We are 
going to Cape May next week, and we shall need them 
there.” 

“She thought of me and provided for me, even 
when I was doing everything I could to worry and 
annoy her. Oh, Alice, if I ever fall back into my old 
perversity, I shall deserve to be awfully punished.” 

“ There is little danger of that, Lou. You have had 
your trial, and come out of it as good as gold. If you 
should be in danger of relapsing, think of your dream, 
and you will cast from you the temptation to do so.” 

“ Yes, that will help me,” she replied, in a hushed 
tone. 

“ Oh, Alice ! I saw mamma as plainly as I see you 
now, and since that night a new spirit seems to have 
entered my heart. I believe that henceforth she will 
be my guardian angel, and aid me to check every mean 
and ungenerous feeling as it arises.” 

“ With that belief, dear, you can never go very far 
wrong again,” said Alice with starting tears, for the 
memory of her mother was very dear to her, though 
she had not been so unreasonable as to insist that her 
father should sacrifice his happiness to it. 

The flower party was a merry one in spite of the 
various emotions which had so lately agitated at least 
two of them. Claire, with the long habit of self-eon- 


THE WEDDING. 


479 


trol, had recovered outward serenity, and she looked 
as bright and animated as if no struggle had lately con- 
vulsed her soul to its inmost depths. 

There was no regular dinner that day, for in the 
dining room the wedding supper was set out, and the 
doors locked. A tray filled with edibles was brought 
into the library, and the feminine party gathered 
around it and ate with appetite after the exercise of 
the morning. 

The rooms looked beautiful with their floral decora- 
tions, and every one complimented Claire on the taste 
which had produced so charming an effect. 

Later in the evening she presided over the toilette 
of the bride, and then retired to make her own. Miss 
Digby had refused to be married in white, as she de- 
clared it to be unsuitable to her age. She wore a 
pearl gray silk trimmed with point lace, with a collar 
of the same fastened at the throat with a diamond pin, 
the bridal gift of Mr. Balfour. Her hair was folded in 
smooth bands around her finely-shaped head, and 
fastened in a knot behind which lay low upon her neck. 
A few gray hairs threaded her abundant locks, but they 
were scarcely noticeable amid the shining coils, and as 
she stood beside her dressing stand drawing her per- 
fectly fitting gloves on her shapely hands, she was a 
regally handsome woman still. 

Louise came in, robed in floating clouds of tulle 
looped with white rosebuds, and shyly carrying some- 
thing in her hand which she held behind her. She 
looked up at the beaming face that welcomed her and 
exclaimed : 

“ Oh, mother ! how handsome you are ! I never 
saw you look so well before, but it is because you are 
happy, I suppose.” 


480 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Yes, Louise, I am happy. This evening I assume 
responsibilities the discharge of which will render the 
remaining days of my life of more value than its hey- 
day has been. You shall be the first to kiss me in my 
bridal robes, and with the caress take the promise that 
you shall have as tender a place in my heart as it has 
to give.” 

She bent forward and Louise raised herself on tip- 
toe to reach her lips ; at the same moment the conceal- 
ed hand went up, and a wreath of orange blossoms was 
dextrously placed on the bent head of the bride. 

Louise hurriedly said : 

“ That is my offering, mother, and if you refuse to 
wear it I shall think that you have not forgiven the 
insolent impertinence of which I was guilty in my 
letter to Alice. I bought it for you myself, and — and 
it is beautiful and very becoming.” 

Miss Digby glanced at herself in the mirror, and 
with a smile said : 

“ Even if I found the flowers unbecoming, Louise, 
I would not refuse to wear them under the circum- 
stances. But I agree with you that with a little 
arrangement they will complete my toilette more taste- 
fully than if I had done without them. Use your skill- 
ful fingers, my dear, in putting the last touches to my 
costume.” 

Louise was enraptured ! Miss Digby placed herself 
on a low seat, and the wreath was twined around the 
coils of her hair with graceful effect : a kiss fell on 
them when all was done, and Louise humbly said : 

“ Never, if I can help it, will I do anything to turn 
a thread of this to silver. You have been an angel of 
goodness to me ever since I have been with you, and 


THE WEDDING. 481 

yet I could give you so much pain as I have lately 
done.” 

“ My darling, your latest actions have only afforded 
me exquisite happiness by proving to me that my 
Louise possesses all the generous and noble traits of 
character for which I have given her credit. There, 
love, do not excite yourself ; you must not shed a tear, 
even in penitence, on this evening.” 

Louise wiped away the bright drops that glistened 
on her long lashes, and with a brilliant smile turned to 
greet her sister who had just entered, attired in a robe 
similar to her own. Alice glanced at the flowers and 
gayly said : 

“ I told her you would wear them for her sake, and 
you look charmingly in them, Aunt Ada ; oh ! I for- 
got, you are my mother now, and I must give you the 
name you have long had in my heart.” 

She knelt before her, raised the hand that was still 
ungloved, arid placed on the third finger a diamond 
solitaire : then lifting it to her lips, Alice went on — 
“ This is my offering, and papa will place over it the 
guard in the shape of the wedding-ring.” 

As Alice arose, Miss Digby kissed her, and thanked 
her for the superb gift which sparkled on her finger. 
She regarded the two sisters with benignant eyes, and 
softly added, as she placed a hand on the shoulder of 
each : 

“ After all, I can say as the Roman mother did, 
‘ These are my jewels.’ My daughters shall be as the 
polished corners of the temple of happiness of which I 
hope to be the high priestess in the years that loom 
before us. I have prayed earnestly to be only a min- 
ister of good to those with whom I am about to link 
30 


482 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


my fate, and I have faith to believe that my prayer 
will be granted.” 

“ I am sure it will,” came simultaneously from the 
lips of both girls. 

At that moment a tap was struck upon the door, 
and Claire entered. She wore a robe of pale azure 
silk, striped with silver, and trimmed with puffings of 
tulle. Her fair neck and rounded arms were bare, and 
a parure of exquisite cameos completed the simple yet 
elegant toilette. Her magnificent nut-brown hair was 
coiled around her small head in a fashion peculiar to 
herself, and over the left ear drooped a single spray of 
fresh rosebuds gathered from the garden. 

Few who looked on that brilliant and most lovely 
face would have dreamed of the sea of sorrow through 
which she had battled — of the surging waves of the 
storm that was again rising to drive her bark of life 
on the same rocks from which it had once so narrowly 
escaped utter shipwreck. 

Her eyes glittered with unrest, and her scarlet lips 
quivered with repressed emotion, but she did not shrink 
or falter. She felt that she would be sufficient to her- 
self in the ordeal she was about to encounter, and she 
dreaded no further passionate outbreak on her own 
part similar to the one of the previous night. 

She smilingly said : 

“ The guests have all arrived, everything is in readi- 
ness, and Mr. Balfour awaits permission to come for 
you. Shall I unclose the magic portal and bid him 
enter? ” 

“ I am quite ready,” replied Miss Digby. “ If I 
were a vain woman, I should be unwilling for the 
three graces to pass before me ; but as I am not, I wish 


THE RINGS OF FATE. 


483 


you to walk between Alice and Louise, and precede 
Mr. Balfour and myself. You will distract attention 
from the elderly couple coming after you.” 

Claire laughed archly, and replied : 
u If you only knew how royally handsome you are 
to-night, Ada, you would not consider such a diversion 
necessary. However, it shall be as you wish. A 
woman has the right to have her own way on the 
evening on which she relinquishes it forever.” 

She opened the door which gave into the hall, and 
made a sign to one of a group of gentlemen standing 
a short distance from it. Mr. Balfour came forward at 
once, and in a few more moments the party came forth, 
arranged as the bride had wished. 

When they reached the parlor, the minister was in 
his place. Walter Thorne stood ready to give the 
bride away, and the other guests, about twenty in 
number, invited the most of them by Mr. Balfour, 
were grouped together in different parts of the room. 


CHAPTER XXIX, 


THE RINGS OF FATE. 


HE solemn and stately ceremony of the Episcopal 



1 church was gone through with in a most impres- 
sive manner, and the two who had in youth been so 
cruelly separated by an unscrupulous man were at last 
linked together by ties that only death might break. 

Congratulations were offered, and the buzz of conver- 
sation became general. Claire was soon surrounded by 


484 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


a circle of gentlemen who hastened to offer their hom- 
age to the most beautiful woman in the room, and she 
accepted it with the air of one to whom such tribute is 
due, dispensing her smiles and gay repartee with 
perfect impartiality among them. 

Walter Thorne held himself a little aloof, but she 
saw that he was furtively watching her, even when he 
affected to be engaged in conversation with Alice, and 
she wondered if he suspected her incognita'. A glance 
in a mirror reassured her, for in the brilliant woman 
of the world reflected from its surface she could see 
nothing to recall the Claire of other da}^s. 

When supper was announced Thorne took Alice in, 
but he managed to place himself opposite to the 
woman who so strangely interested him, that he might 
watch her mobile face and trace the resemblance to his 
repudiated wife of which Miss Digby had spoken. 
He found nothing to remind him of his lost Claire, 
save the color of the hair and eyes, and an occasional 
tone in the voice which thrilled through him as a strain 
of music once loved and familiar, but long unheard. 

In the centre of the table stood the bride’s cake, an 
elaborate structure highly ornamented, which had been 
ordered by Mr. Balfour when in Philadelphia. That 
gentleman called on Thorne to cut it, and laughingly 
said : 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, this is the mystic cake of 
fate ; imbedded in it are two rings obtained from a 
clairvoyant who declared that the gentleman and lady 
who respectively draw them are designed for each 
other. That both may not fall into the hands of the 
same sex, the sides of the cake in which they are to be 
found are appropriately embellished. Under the Cupid 


THE RINGS OF FATE. 


485 


crowned with flowers, the feminine ring will be found. 
On the opposite one, beneath the Bacchus wreathed 
with grapes, is the other.” 

This announcement caused quite a sensation among 
the guests, and one of the gentlemen remarked : 

“ The chances are not equal, Mr. Balfour, for there 
are at least two gentlemen to one lady present.” 

“ What of that, my dear fellow ? fate is too strong 
for us all, and if you are to be the lucky man, the ring 
would be yours if there were a thousand chances against 
you. Do your devoir, Mr. Thorne, and present the 
slices of destiny to the ladies, and I will do the same 
for the gentlemen.” 

There were two young girls present from the hotel 
in the village ; they were spending the summer there 
with their brother, and on the strength of a romantic 
intimacy formed with Alice, they had been invited to 
be present. Blushing and giggling, they pressed toward 
the cake eager to see what the result would be ; Miss 
Araminta Jones earnestly hoping that the rings might 
fall respectively to herself and a dashing young man 
from New York who had been very attentive to her 
since they met at the seaside, and her sister equally 
desirous that chance or destiny might give them to her- 
self and a dilatory lover she was trying to bring to a 
proposal. 

“ La ! Mr. Balfour, you don’t suppose there will 
really be anything in it, if the rings should be drawn ? ” 
lisped Miss Araminta. “We wont be bound to take 
each other, you know, whether we like or not.” 

With mock gravity he replied : 

“ I have every reason to believe that these rings are 
messengers of fate, and those who draw them must 
abide the consequences.” 


486 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ La ! how horrid ! I don’t think I shall tempt 
destiny then, for I might get paired off with some one 
I should not fancy,” and she glanced scornfully at a 
red-haired young man who had been for several weeks 
past making strenuous efforts to establish himself in 
her good graces. 

“ I cannot allow that, Miss Jones. It will never do 
to shirk destiny and defy the fates,” was the laughing 
response. 44 See this sacrificial knife : it will soon 
make as important revelations as those of the Roman 
augurs,” and he plunged the glittering blade into the 
heart of the cake, and cut through the portion in which 
the confectioner had assured him the ring was to be 
found. 

Thorne did the same on the opposite side, and amid 
much laughter and gay badinage the baskets were 
piled up with snowy slices, and that belonging to the 
ladies was offered first. 

The fair hand of Miss Jones fluttered over it uncer- 
tainly, and she said : 

44 Goodness ! it is like having one’s fortune told.” 

44 It is more like a lottery in which there is one prize 
to a number of blanks,” said her sister. 44 Come, 
Minty, take your choice, and let somebody else have a 
chance.” 

Thus urged, the fair Araminta daintily lifted a piece, 
and the next moment broke it into small bits with an 
air of vexed disappointment which caused the red- 
haired young man to smile serenely, for he was human, 
and he resented the speech she had pointed by looking 
at himself. 

The sister followed with the same result ; Alice then 
drew unsuccessfully, and as Louise declared herself too 


THE RINGS OF FATE. 


487 


young to take a chance in such a lottery as that, the 
basket was offered to Claire. She carelessly put out 
her hand, scarcely glancing around, for she was talking 
at the moment with one of her new admirers, and 
took up the first piece she touched. 

Holding it in her hand, she turned again to resume 
the conversation, but Mr. Balfour gayly asked : 

“ How is it, Madame L’Epine ? Are you the fortu- 
nate winner ? I am curious to know, for the clairvoy- 
ant described to me the person who would draw the 
ring, and if she was a true seer, it has fallen to you.” 

Claire flushed slightly, broke open the bit of cake, 
and took from it a gold ring, on which were two 
enameled hearts twined together with a wreath of 
forget-me-nots. She held it up with a smile and said : 

“ There it is, sure enough, but I scarcely expected a 
4 grave seignior ’ like yourself, Mr. Balfour, to attempt 
such a piece of legerdemain as this. Did you really 
and truly consult with a wise woman, and lay this trap 
for your unsuspecting guests ? ” 

He laughed, shook his head and said : 

“ You must not be too inquisitive, lady fair. You 
are the prize to be contended for now, and I look for 
quite an animated contest on the part of the gentlemen 
for the possession of the other magic circlet. Ha ! the 
distribution is already made, for but one piece is left for 
Thorne. As he has no choice he must take that.” 

No sooner had Claire displayed her ring than many 
hands were put forth to select from the contents of the 
other basket, for each one was anxious to obtain what 
might at least entitle him to an animated flirtation with 
the attractive stranger. Many exclamations of chagrin 
were heard, and the voice of Thorne arose above them, 
saying : 


488 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Behold ! ’ the last shall be first — the prize is mine ! ” 
and he held up a heavy hoop of gold on which was 
engraved an altar from which a flame was ascending. 
“ I only hope that you have not been hoaxing us by 
the story of the Sibyl, Balfour. If she is a true 
prophet, I shall regard myself as the most fortunate of 
men.” 

He glanced at Claire as he spoke, and saw that she 
had become deadly pale. He offered her a glass of 
water across the table and respectfully said : 

“ Pardon me, Madame ; I had no idea that our non- 
sense could move you so deeply. It was I who sugges- 
ted this folly to our host, and by a pardonable ruse I 
possessed myself of the ring. I felt the knife grate 
against it when I cut into the cake, and therefore I left 
the others to choose before me. I knew that it was to 
be found in the first piece laid in the plate, but if I had 
dreamed that by appropriating it myself I was doing 
what would cause you to feel annoyance, I should not 
have proclaimed the unfair victory I have won.” 

Claire recovered her self-possession, and the color 
came back to her face as she smilingly said : 

“I am too skeptical by nature to place faith in the 
oracle, even if the trial had been fairly made. It was 
a pleasant device to give interest to the drawing, but 
its significance amounts to nothing in my estimation, 
nor in yours, I am sure.” 

She looked up at him as she spoke, and bewildered by 
the expression of those speaking eyes, he involuntarily 
rejoined : 

“ I wish to heaven it did ! but as you say, it is all 
nonsense. So much the worse for me.” 

“ So much the better, I should say,” was the indiffer- 


THE KINGS OF FATE. 


489 


ent reply, and she turned again to the gentleman with 
whom she had been conversing, and resumed the dis- 
cussion the drawing had interrupted. 

Miss J ones eagerly said : 

“ If you did not fairly get the ring, Mr. Thorne, I 
think there should be another trial.” 

“ I am sorry to differ from a lady, but I cannot agree 
with you. If the fates meant my rivals to win, they 
would have suggested to them that a hasty scramble 
for the first piece they could grasp was not the way to 
do it. I gave them every chance to cheat me of the 
ring, but as they left it to me, I accept the good the 
gods provide and am duly thankful.” 

He ostentatiously placed it on his finger and held up 
his hand for general inspection. Those near him ex- 
amined it in turn, and the New Yorker ventured to lisp 
a feeble witticism : 

“ An altaw to Hymen — pwetty, isn’t it, and appwop- 
wiate ; you are the tallest man heah, and of course it 
belongs to you by wight, ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ” 

“ By wrong rather,” said Miss Araminta, with a curt 
laugh ; 4 4 but as 1 did not wish to win the other, I have 
no interest in it myself.” 

“ The widow seems vewy indiffewent about appwop- 
wiating her pwize,” said the dandy, glancing toward 
the ring which Claire had dropped beside her plate, 
apparently forgetful of what had just passed. 

Though this conversation passed in guarded tones, 
Thorne overheard every word, and he felt a strong in- 
clination to treat Miss Araminta as Othello did his 
bride, and put as summary an end to her admirer in a 
less human fashion. 

The party soon afterwards returned to the parlor ; 


490 tjee discarded wife. 

to the annoyance of Thorne, Claire was still monopo- 
lized by Mr. Norton, and he was glad when music was 
asked for. After some solicitation, she arose and went 
to the piano, followed by her new admirer. She played 
very brilliantly, but as if she was getting through a 
task she had set for herself, rather than as if she found 
any enjoyment in it herself. 

Thorne placed himself where he could watch her 
without making it obvious that he was doing so, and 
the expression of vague sadness that settled on her 
features interested him more than he would have cared 
to have known. In seeking a renewal of friendly 
relations with Ada, his chief object was to learn some- 
thing of Claire, that he might judge of the chances of 
success with her if he offered, at this late day, the only 
amende in his power ; but now he felt that the desire 
to reclaim her was slowly ebbing away from him, and 
in its place was arising a powerful, and almost irresist- 
able inclination to try his chances with the new 
charmer thrown by fate upon his path. 

At the request of Mr. Norton, the fair musician sang, 
but she chose operatic music, and in the highly culti- 
vated voice that filled the room, there was little to re- 
mind one of the fresh, clear tones to which her early 
adorer had once listened entranced. 

Thorne at length drew near the piano, and asked if 
she ever sang ballads. Could she sing for him, “ Bon- 
nie Doon,” or, “ Nannie, wilt thou gang wi’ me ? ” 

Claire glanced up at him with a slightly startled 
expression, for the latest named song had many associ- 
ations connected with it which were intimately blended 
with that past in which he had played so conspicuous 
a part. She saw nothing in his face to alarm her, and 
carelessly replied : 


THE RINGS OF FATE. 


491 


“ They do not suit my style, and I rarely attempt to 
sing ballads now. Alice excels in Scotch music, and 
she will go through her repertoire if you ask her. Her 
voice is exactly suited to do justice to Burns’ songs.” 

She arose as she spoke and beckoned Alice to her. 
She came rather reluctantly, for she anticipated the 
request about to be made, and rather shrank from 
singing after the performance which had just ended. 

She uttered some faint objections, but Alice knew it 
was her duty to entertain their guests to the best of 
her ability, and she finally took the seat Claire had 
vacated. The latter drew forward a large book, and 
said : 

“ Mr. Norton will look out the music for you, ma 
chere, and I have no doubt that your simple songs will 
be more highly appreciated than my scientific squalls.” 

Having thus disposed of her too devoted cavalier, 
Claire approached the bride, and after talking gayly 
with the circle around her a few moments, effected her 
escape from the room. 

The heat of the night oppressed her, and she took 
refuge in the portico, which was quite deserted. A 
bright moon was shining over sea and land, with a few 
gossamer clouds low down in the horizon, from which 
faint flashes of summer lightning came at intervals. 
The tide was coming in, and with it came the first 
stirring of the sea breeze, and the buoyant air fanned 
her hot temples, and allayed the quick throbbing in 
them, which had begun to be almost intolerable. 

A comfortable chair stood in the recess beside the 
door, and she sank down in it with a weary sigh, fer- 
vently hoping that no other straggler would come out 
to break the calm silence of the night with the chatter 


492 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


about nothings which usually form the staple of con- 
versation when comparative strangers meet together in 
such reunions as the one from which she had just es- 
caped. Mechanically Claire played with the ring she 
had that night placed upon her hand, unconscious of 
the nervous motion of her fingers, till the tiny links of 
gold that seemed to bind the enameled hearts together 
broke and hung loosely from them. She looked at it 
a moment, regretfully, and then muttered : 

“ It is ominous of the past and of the future. Our 
hearts can never be bound in any permanent union. 
Oh ! that false, false man ! If he could be true to any 
one creature — to any one purpose, I might trust him 
again ! But he will not. He never will ! ” 

She bowed her head upon her hands, and remained 
buried in bitter reverie for many moments. When 
she looked up at the sound of an approaching step, she 
saw that the man of whom she was so hardly thinking 
was standing within a few feet of her. 

Thorne courteously said : 

“ Pardon me, Madame L’Epine, I had no intention 
of intruding on the solitude you seem to prefer ; if you 
bid me do so, I will return at once to the parlor. I 
must say, however, that it has lost its only attraction 
for me since you deserted it. I have a great deal to 
say to you, if I apprehended rightly the hint you gave 
me last evening when we met on this spot.” 

Claire felt as if a hand had suddenly clutched her 
heart, but she calmly replied : 

“ If you really wish information on a certain subject, 
I can give you much that may be of vital interest to 
you.” 

“ I certainly do wish to know all that you can tell 


THE RINGS OF FATE. 


493 


me. The night is very beautiful — we are liable to 
interruption here every moment, and if you will walk 
with me half an hour on the beach, I shall feel both 
honored and grateful.” 

Claire hesitated a moment, but finally said : 

“ I will go in and get my mantilla, and rejoin you in 
a few moments.” 

She came back after a brief absence, with shrouding 
folds of black lace wrapped over her head and face in 
such a way as to conceal her features as much as pos- 
sible. From the glimpse he had of them, Thorne 
thought they were very pale, but that might be the 
effect of the moonlight, or the contrast between her 
complexion and the sombre cloud in which she had 
enveloped herself. 

They went out in the still moonlight together — the 
long-severed husband and wife : he unconscious of the 
proximity of the being he had once so adoringly loved ; 
she alternately repelled by, and attracted toward him. 

It was near midnight, and at that hour there were 
no loiterers on the sands. Not a word was exchanged 
between them till they gained the smooth surf-beaten 
strand on which the sea was rolling up in waves 
crested with silvery foam. Claire could not have 
spoken even if she had not determined that Thorne 
should first do so, for she was trying to overcome the 
thrilling agitation she felt when he drew her arm 
beneath his own. The last time they had thus walked 
beneath the light of a summer moon, they were wedded 
lovers ; and in her heart, at least, not one disloyal 
thought or feeling had then found a place. 

With this attractive woman leaning on his arm, 
Thorne found it very difficult to commence his in- 


494 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


quiries concerning that other one in whom he had 
lately felt an interest. He at length said : 

“ I was surprised to learn from Mrs. Balfour that 
you are a member of the Courtnay family. Not nearly 
related to them, however, I believe? ” 

“ My mother was a Miss Courtnay. I am as nearly 
related to them as Rosine Lapierre is,” she briefly 
replied. 

“ And you know Rose — my Rosebud, as I used to 
call her. You met with her in Europe, and can tell 
me something of the brilliant career I am told she has 
run in Paris.” 

“ If you really care to hear of her triumphs, I could 
prove to you, perhaps, that the gem you cast away only 
needed a rich setting to show all its worth and beauty ; 
but do you really wish to hear of your repudiated wife, 
Mr. Thorne?” 

“ I should care to listen to anything from your lips, 
Madame L’Epine, for you attract and charm me more 
than any one I have known for years. Till very 
lately, I had a strong wish to seek Rosine again, and 
prove to her how deeply I was sinned against when I 
was, in a manner, compelled to give her up. But I 
confess to you that, since I met with you, the desire to 
win m} r way again into her favor has ceased to be the 
ruling wish of my wayward heart. It is not right, I 
know, but it is my misfortune to be guided by impulse, 
and I would not offer a new wrong to my injured wife 
by asking her to accept my hand, if I could not give 
back to her the love I once felt for her.” 

Claire suddenly withdrew the hand that rested upon 
his arm, and disdainfully said : 

“You are no longer a boy, but a man capable of 


THE RINGS OF FATE. 


495 


estimating the imperious nature of such a claim as 
Rosine has upon you. You are bound to her by every 
tie of honor ; you should make up to her for all she 
has suffered through you, yet you are capable of being 
turned from the sacred path of duty by a penchant for 
one for whom you can feel but a passing interest. 
Rosine might have married brilliantly, but she refused 
all offers ; and what should have led her to do that, 
but the hope of a future reunion with you ? ” 

“ Why should she have cherished such a delusion, 
when I was fettered hopelessly for so many years ? 
Rosine has enjoyed them far more than I have. She, 
doubtless, cast from her heart all regrets, and made 
herself happy in the gay sphere to which her brother 
introduced her. If I asked her to give up her position 
as a queen of fashion, in all probability, she would 
* refuse.” 

“No, she would not, if she believed that the old 
love had never died out in your heart. Convince her 
of that, and she will forgive all — all — and she has 
much to condone.” 

“ True — so much, that I doubt the wisdom of seek- 
ing to renew our former relations. I do not know how 
to play the part of the penitent gracefully. I should 
find myself in a false position, and within the last 
twenty-four hours I have found a dozen arguments 
against our reunion, for every one I found in favor of it 
before that time.” 

“ You have then ceased to love her ? ” 

And the voice of Claire was low and troubled- 
“Was it not my duty to do so when I claimed 
another woman as my wife ? The love that has been 
buried for seventeen long years is not likely to flash 


496 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


up into a sudden flame again. I was wretchedly un- 
happy in my last marriage, but I confess that it was 
as much my fault as that of Agnes. I bitterly resented 
the force that was used against me, but I yielded to it. 
Rosine will not be likely to forgive me for that, or con- 
sent to resume the position I lately thought of offering 
her, without making me feel too much humiliated by 
her acceptance of it ? ” 

“ And you think only of yourself, not of her — of her 
who has ” 

She suddenly broke down, and Thorne looked 
earnestly at her, trying to gain a view of her face ; but 
she held her mantilla too closely over it to allow him 
a glimpse of her agitated features. 

After a pause, he said : 

“ I may be selfish, Madame — I fear that I am — but 
it is a fault shared with the most of my sex. Till 
lately, I thought a great deal of my Rosebud, and 
wished to do what was possible toward effecting a 
reconciliation between her and myself ; but a new 
influence has come into my life, and I must blindly 
follow it, whether for good or for evil. You, at least, 
should pardon me, for you are responsible for this 
change in my plans.” 

“ And you will not seek that forsaken one — you will 
not sue to her for forgiveness ? ” she almost passionate- 
ly asked. 

“ Madame, in the present state of my feelings, I 
dare not. I am a man to love utterly, or not at all. A 
woman forced on my acceptance by a sense of duty 
■would be as hateful to me as that one became to whom 
my father compelled me to give my hand. Rosine is 
happier in her freedom than I could now make her.” 


THE RINGS OF FATE. 


497 


Claire stood silent a moment, and then in clear, 
resonant tones, said : 

“ Mr. Thorne, you have this night cast from you, a 
second time, the supreme blessings of life — true love 
and the happiness that springs from it. I shall speak 
no more of Rosine. Let her name be buried in the 
oblivion to which you have consigned her memory. 
Since the mission I voluntarily undertook has failed, 
let us return to the house — we have nothing more to 
say to each other.” 

“ On the contrary, I have a great deal to say to you, 
Madame, but in your present mood I will not damage 
my own cause by speaking more plainly. I will only 
say that, as you wear the ring which Mr. Balfour 
declared to be that of fate, I dare to hope that it may 
prove a mystic link between us, to be strengthened in 
time till a more perfect union than those which have 
formerly bound me is accomplished.” 

Claire laughed aloud, but she shivered at the same 
time, and held up the hand on which she had placed 
the ring. 

“ See,” she said, “ the chain that bound the hearts 
together is broken. Is not that ominous of what would 
be the result if I consented to listen to you ? ” 

Thorne took the hand in his own, and, after a glance 
at the loosened chain, said : 

“ The rivet has only fallen out — that can easily be 
replaced. If you will allow me, I will take it away 
with me and have it repaired. I shall take care this 
time to have the chain so securely fastened that the 
twin hearts will be irrevocably bound to each other.” 

“ And in that condition, I suppose, you wish me to 

31 


498 the discarded wife. 

accept them as a type of destiny ? ” she mockingly 
asked. 

“ Certainly, as manifest destiny,” he replied, with a 
smile which many women had found irresistible. 

“ Oh, the vanity of man ! Let us go in, Mr. Thorne. 
I came out with you to plead a cause, not to have love 
made to me by a man who should consider himself 
bound.” 

“ Bound to what ? A dead love and a fantastic 
notion of honor ! Pardon me, Madame L’Epine, but 
I think you carry your ideas of my obligations to 
Rosine too far. She has made herself very happy while 
absent from me, and I cannot see that I am called on 
to sacrifice myself to her at this late day.” 

“ Let us dismiss this subject, if you please,” said 
Claire. “ My friend is the last woman in the world to 
accept a sacrifice from you — certainly not so grave a 
one as giving up a passing fancy would be.” 

“ Madame, you are severe.” 

“ Only just, Mr. Thorne.” 

As they walked toward the house the conversation 
continued in the same strain, with little advantage on 
either side ; but, when they reached the gate, Thorne 
asked : 

“ Shall I take the ring, Madame, and have the re- 
fractory links bound together in indissoluble union ? ” 

Claire held up her hand with a coquettish gesture, 
and with a laugh, said : 

“ Yes, you may serve me that far, but do not imagine 
that those hearts of gold represent either yours or 
mine.” 

“ I perceive that they have taken some impressions 
from the enameler’s art, as yours and mine have from 


DESTINY AT WORK. 


499 


the hand of fate, but the gold is beneath, Madame 
L’Epine. In mine, it is doubtless mingled with dross ; 
but in yours, I believe it will be found pure.” 

“ Do not trust to that. My nature has as much 
alloy as that of most others, but its worst trait is co- 
quetry. If you madly choose to enter the lists, you 
may try your chances ; but I warn you that I shall 
avenge the cause of the forsaken Rosine before I am 
done with you.” 

“ I shall risk it at all events, Madame ; and I hope 
to win such a place in your favor that you will have 
no desire to be done with me till the final end of all 
earthly love and hate is reached in — the grave.” 

“• Do you really presume to say that you could be 
constant to any one — to anything ? ” 

“ I shall be to you, lady fair.” 

They reached the house in time to find the company 
dispersing, and soon afterward Claire found herself 
alone in her apartment. She surveyed her pale face 
in the mirror, and with starting tears, murmured : 

“ He has settled his own fate, and mine ! Ah ! how 
different it might have been, had I found truth and 
constancy in his reckless and volatile nature. I will 
win the place I have vowed to regain, and then ” 

She shivered, and burst in tears. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

DESTINY AT WORK. 

I n the following week the party from Seaview went 
to Cape May. A few days after their arrival, 


500 


T.HE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Thorne joined them as they were going down to din- 
ner, and offered his arm to Claire, who accepted it 
with a coquettish smile. 

The season was at its height, and a gay and brilliant 
crowd had assembled in search of pleasure more than 
of health. There were many beautiful women, but 
among them, Claire shone pre-eminent for her charms 
of person and manner, and also for the elegance of 
her toilette. 

Even before the appearance on the scene of the one 
person she wished to fascinate and make wretched by her 
flirtations with others, she had been declared the queen 
of beauty by the men, and that of fashion by the women. 
The Parisian dresses, her laces, and jewels, were the 
admiration and despair of her feminine rivals, for in 
this country nothing so elegant could be obtained with- 
out the expenditure of a small fortune. 

It was asserted that she was enormously rich, and 
that, of course added to the prestige. If it had been 
whispered to Walter Thorne that the woman who re- 
ceived all the homage laid at Claire’s feet, with the air 
of one born to conquer, was the simple-hearted maid 
of the valley who had met with such treatment at his 
hands, he could not have been induced to believe it. 
Among all her adorers he was the most infatuated, the 
most earnest in pursuit, and the least considered. 

Claire tantalized him, held him at arm’s length, and 
made him so furiously jealous at times that he felt 
almost tempted to destroy both her and himself. Then 
she would suddenly devote herself to him, raise him 
to the seventh heaven of hope, only to dash him down 
again into the darkness of doubt, and despair. 

Thorne was no match for her in the game they were 




DESTINY AT WORK. 


501 


playing, for she was a skillful adept, and he but a tyre. 
She tortured him as she declared she would, but kept 
him to his allegiance by skillfully holding out the belief 
that she preferred him above all her other adorers, and 
after a sufficient probation, she might reward him with 
the hand he so eagerly solicited — of the heart that 
should have gone with it, she made no mention. 

Mrs. Balfour watched her career with doubt and 
disapprobation, but Claire would listen to no remon- 
strance, and always declared that the end should be 
satisfactory to her friend. When Ada consulted with 
her husband as to what steps could be taken to bring 
her to have some care for her future happiness with 
the- man she so adroitly tormented, he could only shake 
his head, and say : 

“ We have no right to interfere ; they must settle 
their affairs in their own way, and in my opinion 
Thorne is only getting what he deserves. I never 
saw a man so madly in love, or so blind to the truth as 
he is. He has not a suspicion that he is desperately in 
love with his own wife ; for, if the command of God 
means anything, it is to be understood literally, and 
your friend actually stands in that relation to him.” 

“ So she has always insisted. As a Catholic, Claire 
regards the marriage bond indissoluble, save by death. 
I only wish I dared to give him a hint of the true state 
of the case.” 

“It is too late for that now,” replied Mr. Balfour, 
gravely. “ You might do more mischief than good. 
It will be best not to meddle in any way with their 
affairs, Ada. Since we agreed to keep her secret, we 
are bound to do so to the end. You have enough to 
do to watch our Alice and Louise, without annoying 


502 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


yourself about two people who are old enough to take 
care of themselves.” 

“ True, but it seems to me that they are both sharpen- 
ing weapons hereafter to be used against themselves. 
I take a deep interest in Claire, and in spite of Walter’s 
faults, I think there is good in him, which the influ- 
ence of a true affection would develop. If she would 
only see this, and become the Angel of Salvation to 
him, they plight yet be as happy together as — as — you 
and I are.” 

Mr. Balfour lifted her hand to his lips, and said : 

“ Thank you for your last words, my dear ; but you 
and I are very different from those passionate and im- 
pulsive creatures. What affords us quiet happiness, 
would be deadly monotony to them. I repeat, let 
them settle their affairs their own way, for neither you 
nor I can do anything to induce them to take the same 
view of life as we do.” 

Alice came in looking very bright and pretty in a 
fresh evening dress, ornamented with flowers. Louise 
followed her, in a plain white muslin and blue ribbons. 
She triumphantly said : 

“ See, mother, is not my sister’s dress in perfect taste. 
We arranged the flowers ourselves, and I expect you 
and papa to say that it is beautiful.” 

“It is indeed charming,” said her father, “and 
very becoming too, I must say. I am afraid my little 
Alice will be setting herself up for a belle among the 
juniors.” 

“ There is no need to set herself up at all, when 
others have done it for her,” said Louise half indig- 
nantly. “ Alice is as much admired among the young 
set here, as Madame L’Epine is among the older peo- 


V 


DESTINY AT WORK. 503 

pie. Our party has borne away the palm this season, 
at all events.” 

“ Then you are pleased with your sister’s success, 
petite f ” 

Louise flushed slightly. 

“ Of course I am ; and it is ungenerous in you to 
refer to my former naughtiness. Mother has made me 
ashamed of cherishing so mean a passion as jealousy.” 

Mr. Balfour kissed her and said : 

“ Pardon me, my pet ; I did not mean to wound you. 
I knew that the good seed was planted, but I did not 
know that it had so soon blossomed and borne fruit.” 

•“ Mamma is like a Japanese juggler. She produces 
miracles in the moral, as they do in the floral kingdom,” 
said Louise, nestling down on the sofa beside Mrs. 
Balfour. “ I cannot be lovely and fascinating as 
Madame L’Epine and Alice are, but I can be good and 
useful, as mother is, which will be better.” 

Mrs. Balfour passed her hand caressingly over her 
rippling hair, and smilingly said : 

“ Don’t be too humble in your estimate of yourself, 
my dear. I intend you to be not only a true and noble 
woman but a very charming one too. Alice is tasting 
her first triumphs now, but your day will come, and I 
think it will be as bright as hers.” 

“ Do you really think so, mamma ? Alice is hand- 
some, and I dark and plain.” 

“ Dark as a gipsy, but not plain, for you have a 
bright and changeful face, which, to many, will be 
more interesting when illuminated by intelligence and 
good temper than a merely pretty one.” 

“ So I must labor to make myself charming,” said 
Louise, laughing gaily. “ I promise to be a Goody 


504 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Twoshoes from to-day, and to make myself a regular 
bluestocking, that I may make sure of what you prom- 
ise as the result.” 

“ Mamma,” said Alice, who had been surveying the 
effect of her toilette in a large cheval glass, “ has Mr. 
Thorne consented yet that his daughter should join us ? 
The season is almost over, and if she is to come at all, 
she should be with us this week.” 

“ I cannot tell what his intentions are, Alice, I have 
spoken to him several times on the subject of his bring- 
ing May hither, but he has always evaded me. I do 
not believe he has any intention of hampering himself 
with a grown-up daughter. I shall not offer to chap- 
eron her again.” 

“ It will not be necessary after this summer, for Mr. 
Thorne will have a wife of his own to look after his 
daughter. Everybody says that he and Madame 
L’Epine will make a match, and I think it will be very 
nice for May to have her for a stepmother. Next to 
you, I should like her best for mine.” 

“ Upon my word, you youngsters settle things in a 
most off-hand manner,” said Mr. Balfour, laughing. 
“ I suppose it is the united wisdom of the junior clique 
that has arranged a marriage to which the parties most 
deeply concerned have not yet consented.” 

Alice blushed, and deprecatingly replied : 

“ Dear papa, we cannot help observing what is 
patent to all. Mr. Thorne is perfectly devoted, and 
Madame L’Epine accepts his homage in such a way as 
to afford him encouragement, even when she seems 
bent on annoying him.” 

“Keally, Alice, considering this is your first ap- 
pearance on the stage, you seem to have progressed 


DESTINY AT WORK. 


505 


wonderfully in the knowledge of womanly tactics. 
By what species of clairvoyance have you been able to 
comprehend those of Madame L’Epine? ” 

Alice blushed deeply, and after a moment’s hesita- 
tion, said : 

“ If you won’t laugh at me, papa, or scold me for 
watching her, I will tell you.” 

44 1 pledge myself to be as grave as a judge, and, as 
to scolding you, I think I should have to practice that 
before I should know how to begin.” 

44 So you would, you dearest of fathers, so I will tell 
you what a little spy I have been. I am very fond of 
Madame L’Epine, as you know, and I like Mr. Thorne, 
too. I have been interested in speculating on his 
chances of. success with her, for every body can see 
that he is devoted to her. She often treats him shame- 
fully, but there is an expression in her eyes wdien she 
looks at him that is not there when she regards others ; 
and when she has most deeply offended him, she lures 
him back in a way that plainly says, I prefer you to 
every other. I cannot explain to you how I under- 
stand this, but it is clear to me.” 

44 Well, my dear, I think it a pity that you cannot 
exercise your talents as a detective where they would 
be of service,” said Mrs. Balfour. 44 1 hope you do 
not give your young friends the benefit of your wise 
observations. I think the object of your speculations 
would be offended if she suspected that she has been 
under such surveillance from you.” 

44 Oh, mother, you know that I could never be 
guilty of such a breach of delicacy as that ! I can 
speak freely to you and papa of what concerns our 
friend, but not to strangers.” 


506 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ I ask your pardon, my love, for suggesting such a 
possibility ; but young people are so thoughtless that 
they often do what they afterward regret. I see that 
I judged you too harshly, and I am sorry for it.” 

“You have taught me what is right, mother, and I 
only try to guide myself by the standard you have 
given me,” said Alice. “ I have heard a great deal 
said about Madame L’Epine and her flirtations, but I 
have never added a comment of my own.” 

“ That was right and sensible. But how do you 
propose to get May Thorne here through her influ- 
ence ? ” 

“ In a very straightforward manner. I shall ask her 
to use it with Mr. Thorne to induce him to allow her to 
join us.” 

“ Well, success attend you, my child, for I wish to 
give that poor, neglected girl a chance to see something 
of society. My heart aches whenever I think of her 
shut up with servants in that lonely house.” 

“ She has a governess now. I heard Mr. Thorne tell 
Madame L’Epine that he had found a suitable one to 
take charge of her. She was asking him when Miss 
Thorne was to come to Cape May, and he replied by 
saying that she would do better to remain at home 
under the charge of Mrs. Black.” 

Louise here started up, and exclaimed : 

“ Mrs. Black ! Why, that is the lady Madame S. 
discharged from her school the week after I entered it, 
because she was so dictatorial and meddling that she 
could not stand her. A nice time Miss Thorne will 
have with such a person as she is ! ” 

“ You saw her, then, Lou. ; what was she like ? ” 

“ She wasn’t like any other person I ever saw. She 


DESTINY AT WORK. 


50T 


is stiff as a poker, and yellow, and sharp, and hateful 
every way. She found fault with poor Fidele, and told 
Madame S. that if every pupil was allowed to bring 
her dog with her, she had better organize a department 
for canine instruction at once. Madame told her that 
she was welcome to take charge of it; one word 
brought on another, and the end was, that Mrs. Black 
left in a rage.” 

44 My dear Louise, are you sure that this lady is as 
disagreeable as you have described her ? ” asked Mrs. 
Balfour. 

44 1 don’t think I am exaggerating, mamma. I know 
that I should be perfectly miserable if I were shut up 
with Mrs. Black, and forced to obey all her com- 
mands.” 

Mr. Balfour and his wife exchanged glances ; the 
latter arose and said : 

44 It is growing late ; the ball-room will be crowded 
to-night, so we had better go in while there is a chance 
for me to obtain a pleasant seat. You must not dance 
later than twelve to-night, Alice. I wish you to enjoy 
yourself thoroughly, but to do that, you must not 
wear yourself out with the dissipations of this gay 
place.” 

44 1 will remember not to make engagements to last 
beyond that hour,” was the reply ; and they moved 
toward the portion of the house in which the ball-room 
was situated. 

Dancing had not commenced, and Claire was prome- 
nading with Thorne, but with a suite of followers with 
whom she bandied sparkling repartees and gay badi- 
nage, that caused him to grind his teeth with rage, 
although her hand rested on his arm with that thrilling 


508 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


pressure which said to him, “ With others I jest ; on 
you I lean.” In his heart he believed that his jealousy 
was groundless, but he could not repress the anger 
with which he saw her lavish her smiles on other 
lovers as eager to win her as he was himself. 

Claire glanced up at his stormy face, and read what 
was passing in his mind. She continued her pastime a 
little longer, and then atoned to him by refusing to 
waltz with every one that asked her, saying, with her 
sweetest smile : 

“ I shall waltz but once to-night, and I have prom- 
ised that to Mr. Thorne. Excuse me, gentlemen, but 
the weather is too warm to render a crowded ball-room 
the most agreeable place to spend half the night in. 
After this one dance is over, I shall seek a cooler at- 
mosphere.” 

“ Shall I have the honor of escorting you, Madame ? 99 
asked Mr. Norton, who had followed her to Cape May, 
and made one of her train of adorers. 

“ Thank you, but my escort is already provided ; 99 
and she glanced smilingly into the lowering face that 
loomed above her. The clouds disappeared from it 
like magic, and Thorne threw a triumphant glance 
around upon his rivals. For days he had vainly prayed 
for a private interview with her, and now she accorded 
it in this public manner, as if to assure him and others 
that he was the favored lover, who had only to ask his 
reward and obtain it. 

His heart beat high with triumphant happiness as he 
whirled around the large room, holding in his arms the 
creature he coveted beyond all earthly gifts. The sud- 
den softness of her manner filled him with such, intoxi- 
cating joy as can only be felt and appreciated by one 


DESTINY AT WORK. 


509 


who has doubted and suffered as Thorne had. His 
passion for this enchantress had assumed that phase 
which leads men to commit any extravagance for the 
sake of the desired object. To refuse him now, or to 
play with him longer, would have been dangerous to 
his sanity, perhaps to her own life ; for Claire knew 
him to be infatuated to that point that he would die 
with her sooner than consent to live without her. 

When the waltz was over, she sat down a few mo- 
ments near an open window, and Alice came up to her 
and whispered : 

“ Please ask Mr. Thorne to bring his daughter here 
this week. You know he can refuse you nothing, and 
I have set my heart on having her with us.” 

44 She shall come,” replied Claire, with one of her 
radiant smiles. 44 1 too wish to make her acquain- 
tance.” 

Alice looked intelligent, thanked her with animation, 
and flitted away to join the partner she had forsaken 
for a moment. 

Claire suddenly arose, and said 

44 Let us go out on the piazza. If I linger here much 
longer, I shall be surrounded by a wearisome crowed 
of idle flatterers ; I am beginning to tire of this frivo- 
lous round of nothings, and I sometimes wish that I 
could aspire to a higher role than that of a successful 
belle.” 

44 You may sustain that of an idolized wife if you 
choose to make the exchange,” was the whispered 
reply, as she took the arm he offered, and swept from 
the room. 

44 The piazza was nearly deserted, and the two 
walked to the extreme end and sat down where they 


510 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


had a view of the ocean, with a young moon shining 
over it. 

Claire leaned her head upon her hand, and was so 
long silent, that Thorne at length asked : 

“ Have you no reply to give to me, Madame 
L’Epine ? I explicitly asked you to be my wife, and I 
must have a direct answer to-night. I can no longer 
endure the uncertainty in which I have lately lived.” 

She turned her eyes upon him, and dreamily said : 

“ I know you cannot. I have read all the phases of 
your feelings for me, and I believe that among all 
those who offer me homage, yours is most sincere. 
Yet I shall not render you happy, Mr. Thorne — I 
know I shall not.” 

“ I will trust to that ! May I infer from your last 
words that I am so blessed as to have won your consent 
to become my very own — the angel of my life? ” 

“ Or the demon,” she said, with a short, bitter 
laugh. “ Remember, you take me for better, for 
worse ; but as you are so very ardent a wooer, I will 
keep you no longer in suspense. From to-night my 
flirtations are ended ; for as plighted bride I shall 
not encourage the attentions of others. You have 
conquered ; and I submit to the power I can no longer 
defy.” 

He took the hand she held out to him and uttered 
all the rhapsodies of a lover over it. For a few mo- 
ments Claire forgot the wrong, the bitterness that lay 
between them ; she only heard his words of love, and 
knew that they were sincere. If he had not loved her 
as his life in those by-gone days he certainly did so 
now, and the triumph of having won him anew was 
overshadowed by the flood of sweet and tender emo- 
tions that gushed up in her heart. 


DESTINY AT WORK. 


511 


The impulse came upon her to tell him all ; to avow 
the deception she had practised upon him, and entreat 
his forgiveness, but as she unclosed her tremulous lips 
to do so, he unfortunately said : 

“You are my first true Jove, my darling. My hand 
has twice been given in marriage, but this is the only 
masterful passion my heart has known. In my youth 
I wooed and won a lovely child, but, as you know, we 
were wrenched apart by the mandate of my father. It 
is a painful and humiliating story ; but we were both 
better off apart, perhaps, than if we had braved the 
poverty that lay before us, if we had clung to each 
other.” 

“ Did Rosine take that view of your separation ? ” 
asked Claire, in a faint tone. 

“ I cannot say. She suffered then, and so did I ; 
but she consoled herself by seeking other scenes, and 
finding friends who enabled her to play a brilliant part 
in the gayest capital in the world. I had nothing left 
but to accept the destiny offered me by my father, as 
the sole alternative to regain his favor. The woman 
who bore my name was endured — never loved — never 
appreciated as she, perhaps, deserved. I was a bad 
husband to her, but to you I shall give all that was 
denied to her — love, confidence, and happiness — I trust, 
and believe.” 

She withdrew her hand and quietly said : 

“ I hope that you do not share the delusion of others 
with regard to my reputed fortune. I am not rich ; I 
have a few thousands a year secured to me in such a 
way that they cannot be alienated.” 

Thorne sincerely replied : 

“I have never thought. of your possessions. It is 


512 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


yourself I covet, not the fortune with which rumor 
may have endowed you. If you were penniless, I 
would as gladly take you to my heart as the one price- 
less gem this world holds for me. You cannot doubt 
m}' truth after the evidences of devotion I have given 
you.” 

“ No, I do not doubt it. I know that you love me.” 

“ And you, Madame, you give me in return such 
affection as is due from the wife to the husband she 
accepts ? ” 

She looked up at him and reproachfully asked : 

“ Why do you imply a doubt of that ? Have I not 
consented to marry you ? 

“ Pardon me, but something in your manner casts a 
sudden chill over me. The doubt was born of my 
overwhelming passion for you. Where so much is 
given, the heart becomes exacting ; yet I can scarcely 
expect from you the same devotion I lavish on you. 
It is strange that I do not yet know your name. Ada 
always speaks of you to me as Madame L’Epine. As 
it is now my privilege to address you less formally 
when we are alone, I wish to know it from yourself.” 

“ My name is Clara,” she briefly replied. 

Thorne started slightly, and his thoughts went back 
to other days — but they swiftly returned — he had no 
room in his heart for early memories to-night ; he could 
only think of the adorable being beside him. He 
softly said : 

“ Having your consent to be mine, Clara, let us 
settle the time for our union. There is no need of 
delay, and the earliest day you will consent to name 
will suit me best.” 

Claire quietly replied : 


DESTINY A. T WORK. 


513 


“ In three more weeks we leave this place, and we 
can be married in the cathedral as we pass through 
Philadelphia. You are aware that I am a Catholic, 
and of course I must be wedded with all the ceremo- 
nies of my own church. But I have a request to make 
of you first.” 

“ It is granted before it is asked. I can refuse noth- 
ing to her who has rendered me so supremely happy.” 

“ Thank you — I wish your daughter to come hither 
that I may make her acquaintance, and in a measure 
reconcile her to so speedy a marriage on your part. It 
is Scarcely six months since the death of her mother, 
remember, and May must feel a little wounded when 
she hears of our approaching union.” 

Thorne hesitated a moment, and then said : 

“ I have promised and I will not retract. My 
daughter shall come hither at once, and I am sure she 
will be charmed with you, as all are that approach you. 
May knows better than any one else what a desert 
waste my home was to me in the years passed under 
the same roof with her mother. Agnes and myself 
were utterly estranged from each other, whether 
through her fault or my own it is useless now to in- 
quire. We were both, doubtless, greatly to blame ; 
but for May the changes about to be made at Thorn- 
hill will be an advantage. She will be happier and 
better cared for under your reign than, I am afraid, 
she has been under mine.” 

Claire shivered slightly, and rising said : 

“ Since we have settled all that is necessary, I be- 
lieve I will retire. On the twentieth of September, I 
will ratif}' the promise I have given you to-night — and 
32 


514 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


before this week is ended, I shall hope to see Miss 
Thorne here.” 

“ It shall be as you wish, but why do you leave me 
so early? I am only beginning to realize my great 
good fortune. It is difficult for me to believe that my 
late doubts have been dissipated by the blissful cer- 
tainty that you will be mine. Remain a little longer, I 
entreat, and let us talk over the future that is opening 
before us.” 

With a light laugh, in which there was a ring of 
bitterness, she said : 

“ There is often more pleasure in anticipation than 
in realization, so I will leave you to your dreams. I 
am a most capricious person, and to-night I must be 
alone. Since I came hither my life has been such a 
whirl that I have had no time for thought. Is it not 
natural that after settling so important a question as my 
future fate, I should wish to reflect soberly on what I 
have done.” 

“ I hope that reflection will not lead to repentance,” 
Thorne said, with a slight inflexion of anxiety in his 
voice, for he knew that a coquette is the most uncer- 
tain of mortals ; and although Claire had consented to 
marry him, he would not feel quite certain of her till 
the irrevocable knot was tied. 

With a glance that reassured him, she replied : 

“ The tie that exists between us is too strong to be 
broken. Have no fears for my stability, for in spite of 
every misgiving I may have, I will give you my hand 
on the day named. I give you leave to proclaim our 
engagement, and thus free me from the attentions that 
have, of late, become almost oppressive to me.” 

He raised her hand to his lips, and rapturously said : 


DESTINY AT WORK. 


515 


That is assurance enough. I should be a wretch to 
harbor another doubt. For my sake you relinquish 
the homage due to such charms as yours, and I can 
never be too grateful. I acknowledge that I am jeal- 
ous by nature, and I could scarcely bear to see you 
now listening with complacency to the flatteries of the 
butterflies that have fluttered around you, and given 
you the opportunity to torment me as you have done.” 

“ I warned you beforehand that I am a coquette ; but 
from to-night I abdicate my throne and sceptre, and 
dedicate my life to a purpose.” 

“And that purpose is to make me the happiest and 
most enviable of men.” 

“ Wait and see.” 

And she laughed so strangely that he earnestly re- 
garded her. 

Claire withdrew her hand from his clasp and went 
on : 

“ I am getting terribly nervous — pray take me to my 
room, and then return to the revellers.” 

Thorne saw that she was trembling as if with a chill, 
and he moved forward without any further attempt to 
detain her. When they gained the corridor on which 
her room opened, it was silent and empty. He sud- 
denly clasped her in his arms and kissed her on brow 
and lips without any resistance on her part. For a 
moment her head rested helplessly upon his breast, 
and then she faintly said : 

“ Let me go now — good-night ! ” 

And, abruptly extricating herself from his arms, she 
entered her room, closed and bolted the door, and 
threw herself upon her bed in a paroxysm of emotion 
born of the contending feelings that struggled in her 
heart. 


516 the discarded wife. 

Thorne moved away as if walking on air. His face 
was radiant, and when he re-entered the ball-room the 
aspirants for the favor of the reigning belle knew that 
he was their successful rival, even without being told. 
He sought out Mrs. Balfour, and sitting beside her, 
said : 

“ As my oldest friend, Ada, I ask your congratula- 
tions. Your friend has accepted me, and within a 
Inonth we shall be united. After all my trials and 
shortcomings, my fate promises to be a happier one 
than I deserve.” 

Mrs. Balfour started, and changed color, but she 
calmly said : 

“ I give you my most earnest wishes for peace and 
happiness. But are you sure that you will find them 
in a union with Madame L’Epine, Walter?” 

“ Why not ? I love her as I never thought to love 
any woman again. When I lately sought you, I 
dreamed only of atonement to my unfortunate Rosine, 
but Clara has made me forget everything but her 
adorable self. I declare to you that I think she has no 
peer among women.” 

“ Yet it might have been better for you had you 
remained true to your first love. Has Clara told you 
nothing of — of her past life? ” 

“ I asked to know nothing but that I adore her be- 
yond expression, and she deigns to return my affection. 
Crowned with her love, am I not as a king among 
men? Is there anything beyond that that I should 
wish to know ? ” 

“ As you intend to marry her, I thought you might 
wish to learn something more of her past life. Have 
you no curiosity to know something of the man to 
whom she was united ? ” . 


DESTINY AT WORK. 


517 


“ No ; I never wish to hear him alluded to in any 
way. I hope she was not happy with him, for I can- 
not bear that she shall cast one regretful thought to 
him, even if he is in his grave.” 

“ She was not happy with him, I can assure you of 
that much, and she has little cause to remember him 
with tenderness. If you can efface from her heart the 
memory of her wretched past, my wishes for your 
happiness will not be vain.” 

“ I will efface it — from me she shall know nothing 
but tenderness and care. Oh, Ada, I feel like a new 
man, and I intend to try and be a better one.” 

“ Ah ! Walter, you have made many such resolutions 
only to break them. But I hope that good to you both 
will spring from this new union.” 

“ I believe it will. I am sure it will. And now I 
have a favor to ask of you. I have promised to bring 
May hither, that my betrothed may make her acquaint- 
ance. Will you pardon me for not before accepting 
your offer to take charge of her, and receive her into 
your daughters’ room when she arrives ? ” 

“ Few things would afford me more pleasure. The 
girls occupy a large and pleasant chamber, and they 
are most anxious to claim May for a companion. Bring 
her to us as soon as possible, and I will do all that is 
possible to make the change an agreeable one for her.” 

“ There can be little doubt as to that, for Thornhill 
is a dreary place, and I begin to think that I should 
not have left May so long shut up there. But in spite 
of my precautions, she has actually found a lover, for 
a petition was made to me not very long since by a 
young lawyer from Philadelphia for my consent to 
their marriage. Of course I refused, for he had clandes- 


518 THE discarded wife. 

tinely made her acquaintance, and he confessed to me 
that he had little besides his professional emoluments, 
which are small. I found a governess and sent her to 
Thornhill, with strict orders to watch her pupil unre- 
mittingly.” 

Mrs. Balfour listened with interest. 

“ What is the name of this } r oung lover ? Since he 
was honorable enough to come to you in place of elop- 
ing with your daughter, I think his claims merit some 
consideration.” 

“ I do not agree with you. It does not suit my plans 
to allow May to marry a poor man. If she would have 
acceded to the terms I offered her, I would have 
brought her here long ago, but she was obstinate, and 
so was I.” 

“ Are you willing to enlighten me as to why she 
refused ? ” 

“ If I do so, I must also tell you the ground of our 
disagreement, and that I prefer not doing.” 

She gave him a penetrating glance, but Mr. Balfour 
approached them at that moment with his two daugh- 
ters, and Alice gayly said : 

“ See how obedient I am, mamma. Though I am 
not at all tired, I have refused half a dozen invitations 
to dance, and here I am, punctual to the hour you 
named for retiring.” 

“ And I will reward you by announcing to you that 
May will be here in a few days to join our party.” 

“ I am so glad ! Thank you, Mr. Thorne, for con- 
senting to bring her. She is mamma’s cousin, you 
know, and we have the right to take an interest in 
her.” 

“I am sure I am very grateful that you should do 


DESTINY AT WORK. 


519 


so. I think that you and May will be pleasant com- 
panions for each other. I am sorry I did not bring her 
before, but I had good reasons for not doing so.” 

“ All is well that ends well,” said Mrs. Balfour, 
rising to leave the room. “ Only bring her now as 
soon as possible, and assure her of a welcome reception 
from your friends.” 

They bade him good-night, and Thorne strolled out 
on the piazza, and sought the same spot on which he 
had sat with Claire. There, dreaming and smoking, 
he remained several hours. 

The increasing chilliness of the night air at length 
drove him to his room ; and on the table he found a 
strange-looking missive, awkwardly folded, and ad- 
dressed to “Mister Walter Thorn, Esq.,” in a sprawl- 
ing hand. Wondering who his correspondent could 
be, he took the letter up, and saw that the postmark 
was L . 

Hastily tearing it open, he found within an almost 
illegible scrawl which was with some difficulty deci- 
phered : 

Thonhel, Orgst 25. 

hon’d sur I kant rite a coz o roomtiz, an I sens this 
by manes o’ the boy barny — that critter yer sent here 
aint no kount to luk arter Miss ma. Ef yer don kom 
bac as quic es yer kin she’ll be of wi’ her lovyer, coz 
its al fixt fur hur to lope by the last o’ the week ; 
thusday nite is the time ; i’m flat o my bac an kant do 
nuthin, so ef yer wants to keep yer darter you’d better 
lose no time. Yours in deffiction, C. Benson. 

After spelling this out Thorne sat for many moments 
reflecting on what was best to be done. He was half 


520 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


tempted to leave May to the fate she had chosen, for 
he was most unwilling to be separated, even for a day, 
from the woman who had so deeply infatuated him. 
But he remembered how important the control of his 
daughter’s fortune might be to him, and with a 
smothered curse he drew paper toward him and wrote 
a few lines to Claire, informing her that his presence 
was imperatively needed at Thornhill, but he would 
return in five days at farthest, accompanied by his 
daughter. 

By this time it was three o’clock ; he had no time to 
rest, as he must catch the train at four, so he thrust a 
few necessary articles in a traveling bag, and an hour 
later was whirling along on his way to Thornhill. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

AN ELOPEMENT PREVENTED. 

T HORNE left the train at a small town twenty 

miles from L . It was five o’clock, and half an 

hour later the carriage he ordered was ready to take 
him on to his destination. He began to have many 
doubts as to arriving in time to prevent the intended 
elopement, for the horses furnished him seemed inca- 
pable of traveling more than five miles an hour. 

He could only console himself with the hope that 
the lovers would have no opportunity of leaving before 
ten o’clock, and if no accident happened he might yet 
be in time to intercept their flight. He was anxious 
to do so, yet throughout the day he had thought less of 


AN ELOPEMENT PREVENTED. 521 

May and her intended escapade than of his own happi- 
ness. Insensibly all bitter and hard feeling merged in 
the tide of sweet hopes that filled his heart when the 
image of Claire arose before his fancy, and he felt more 
kindly even toward his offending daughter for the 
softening influence she had brought into his arid life. 

Darkness gathered around him ; the storm of the 
past day rendered the road heavy, and the tired horses 
struggled along, stumbling at nearly every step. At 
length the lights of L came in sight, and on look- 

ing at his watch the impatient traveler found that it 
was not yet ten. This was the night fixed on for the 
elopement and he might yet be in time, as he had but 
another mile to travel ; he spoke to the driver : 

“ If you can make the distance between here and 
Thornhill in ten minutes, I will give you a dollar 
extra.” 

“ The critters is dead beat ; they couldn’t do it ef 
you offered me fifty dollars. Ef you’re in a hurry 
you’d better git out and see ef a boss can’t be had 
here.” 

“So I will — for I believe you are right as to the 
condition of your horses. Here is your money, with 
enough added to it to pay your bill here, since you 
cannot go on to Thornhill.” 

He gave the man a note, sprang out when he drew 
up in front of the hotel, and looked eagerly around 
him. A cabriolet in charge of a small boy was stand- 
ing near the private entrance, which he at once recog- 
nized as that of Dr. Brandon. Without a moment’s 
hesitation Thorne sprang into it and said to the lad : 

“ Run in and tell the doctor I have taken his car- 
riage away for half an hour. Yon know me, Ben— 


522 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Mr. Thorne. Say to him that I will send it back im- 
mediately.” 

With staring eyes the boy remonstrated : 

“ But yer carn’t do it, Mr. Thorne, for the gemplin 
is a goin’ to use it. ’Twarn’t the doctor what brung 
it here, but Mr. Sinkler ; he jest went in a minnit, and 
I were to hold the boss for him.” 

“ Ah, indeed ! so much the better. Give my com- 
pliments to the young man when he comes out, and 
say to him that he will have no use for a carriage to- 
night.” 

He gave a sharp stroke to the horse and dashed off 
just as Sinclair reached the door. As the doctor’s cab 
standing at the gate of Thornhill would attract little 
notice, it had been arranged that it should be used to 
bring May in town, and at Doctor Brandon’s house the 
lovers were to take possession of the carriage provided 
for their intended journey. 

The message delivered by the frightened Ben as- 
sured Sinclair that for the present all hope of success 
in their enterprise was over, and he hurried to Dr. 
Brandon to inform him of what had occurred. 

Thorne dashed on toward his long-deserted home 
almost in good humor at the sudden checkmate he had 
given the plotters. May was safe for the present, at 
all events, and he had time before him in which to 
bring her back to her allegiance to himself. 

When he reached the gate opening into the grounds 
of Thornhill it was quickly unclosed by a woman who 
had been on the watch. The night was too cloudy to 
enable him to distinguish her person under the shadow 
of the hedge, but Thorne recognized the voice of 
Nancy Bean as she said : 


A N ELOPEMENT PP EVENTED. 


523 


“ It’s all right, Mr. Sinkler — the dragon’s sleepin’ as 
ef she’ll find it hard to wake up agin ; an’ here’s Miss 
May’s carpet sack. You jest go on arter her, an’ I’ll 
take care o’ the kerridge.” 

“ You are very accommodating, upon my word, 
Nancy,” replied a voice that seemed to freeze her into 
stone. “ Give me the satchel, and do you drive Dr. 
Brandon’s cab back to town and tell him 1 returned 
it to him with my thanks for its use. As to yourself, 
I think it will be best for you not to show your face 
at Thornhill again.” 

He was very calm, for he could afford to be so in the 
moment of victory. Miss Bean handed him the satchel 
mechanically, and Thorne strode up the avenue with- 
out another word. 

He was scarcely beyond hearing, when a mocking 
voice close at Nancy’s elbow said : 

“ Somebody’s sarved out now, I swon. I tould you 
I’d be aven w~i’ ye, an’ be jabers I’ve kep’ me word, 
Miss Bane. Carrots an’ vict’ry forever ! ” 

Nancy made a dive at his shaggy locks, caught him 
by them, and holding him down in spite of his strug- 
gles to escape, gave him a sound whipping, the horse, 
like the well-trained hack he was, standing by in grave 
contemplation of the proceeding. 

When she had punished him to her own satisfaction, 
Nancy grimly mounted into the carriage, and as she 
drove off said: 

“ If that don’t teach you not to meddle with what 
don’t consarn you, I’ll git Mr. Sinkler and Dr. Brandon 
to give you as much more.” 

“ Ow ! ow ! Miss Bane, we’re square up — you needn’t 
git nobody as security for your debt, fur you’ve tuck it 
out’n my poor bones.” 


524 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Barney moved off, suppressing the howls that arose 
to his lips through the dread he had of the master of 
the place, and hastened to report Thorne’s arrival to 
the housekeeper. 

In the meantime that gentleman made his way to 
the window through which he correctly supposed May 
would attempt to make her escape, and entered the 
room in the manner described in a previous chapter. 

Casting a rapid glance around, he lifted May from 
the floor, and carried her into her chamber, in which a 
light was burning ; he placed her on the bed and 
sprinkled water over her white face. He saw how 
much it had changed, and a faint feeling of remorse 
came to his heart for all he had made her suffer in those 
long months of loneliness, followed by the advent of 
a tyrannical task mistress who had neither feeling nor 
consideration for her helpless charge. 

But his long repressed anger surged up again when 
May unclosed her eyes and regarded him with a stare 
of frightened bewilderment. With a sardonic curl of 
his lip he brusquely said : 

“You are a pretty daughter to swoon at my feet 
when I come upon you after so long an absence. What 
have you been doing to make you so much afraid of 
me ? for I see that you are trembling with apprehen- 
sion.” 

“ Oh, papa,” she faintly gasped, “ do not speak to 
me so ! do not reproach me, for after all I have lately 
gone through, I cannot bear it.” 

“ Ah, indeed ! I thought your late experiences had 
been all couleur de rose. In spite of my efforts to 
shield you from such a fate, you have clandestinely 
made the acquaintance of a fortune-seeker, and if I 


AN ELOPEMENT PREVENTED. 


525 


had not arrived as opportunely as I did, by this time 
you would have been disgraced by eloping from your 
father’s house with a man you scarcely know.” 

May looked up at him with a face of stony white- 
ness, and slowly said : 

44 The life I lead beneath this roof is unendurable to 
-me ; is it wonderful then that I should have sought to 
escape from it at any risk ? though you greatly wrong 
Harry Sinclair by imputing to him such motives. He 
is honorable and disinterested, as time will prove. I 
would have gone with him to-night — I do not deny it, 
for with him I should at least find the love and appre- 
ciation that died for me in this house when my mother 
passed from it. Oh, papa ! have you no pity for me ! 
no feeling of compassion for your motherless child.” 

Thorne angrily replied : 

44 Pity ! compassion for an ingrate who has defied 
my wishes as you have ! Love ! appreciation ! stuff ! 
sentimental nonsense ! You are your mother’s own 
child, thwarting me at every turn and opposing your 
will to mine. On one condition you may go to the 
d — 1 your own way, and I will do nothing to prevent 
it. Surrender to me the money left you by your 
mother, and then see if this paragon of a lover will 
accept you. I may soon have pressing need of a large 
sum, and you may purchase your freedom by giving it 
to me. You can sell out your bank stock, as it is left 
absolutely to you to do as you please with, reserving 
for yourself three thousand dollars, as I do not wish 
you to be utterly impoverished.” 

For a few moments this avenue of escape seemed 
like a glimpse of Heaven to the unhappy girl, but the 
new-sprung hope died in its birth, for she remembered 


526 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


the promise her dying mother had exacted from her, 
and she faintly replied : 

“ I would gladly do as you wish, sir, but I dare not 
break the pledge I gave to my mother. She may have 
been wrong in asking it of me, but she thought she 
was acting for the best.” 

“No doubt — for her best actions were always opposed 
to my interests.” 

He sat down beside the bed, and May did not ven- 
ture to reply to him in his excited state. After another 
pause of considerable length, he went on : 

“ I have decided to make a change here which will 
be for your benefit as well as for my own happiness. 
You may think it very soon for me to think of marry- 
ing again, but knowing what you do, you cannot be 
very much surprised. I come hither to put a stop 
to what has been going on, and I take you with me to 
Cape May that you may make the acquaintance of the 
lady who will soon become my wife. You will find 
your cousin Ada ready to take charge of you. She has 
recently married Mr. Balfour, to whom she was engaged 
twenty-five years ago. To your grandfather they owed 
their long separation, for he marred her life as he did 
mine.” 

“ It was Mr. Balfour’s daughters that my cousin 
Ada took under her care,” said May, timidly. “ I am 
glad to hear that she has become their stepmother, for 
she is a good woman. I — I — am not as much surprised 
at what you tell me about yourself as you might sup- 
pose. Dr. Brandon prepared me for the news some 
time ago. I hope you will be happier, papa, than you 
were with poor mamma.” 

“ If I am not it will be my own fault, for Madame 


AN ELOPEMENT PREVENTED. 527 

L’Epine is an angel of beauty and sweetness. I love 
her and I will endeavor to render her happy. We 
shall leave this place to-morrow morning at six o’clock, 
so you may pack up your things and be ready at that 
hour. My betrothed will soon win your affection and 
confidence, and if you choose, you can place yourself 
on a better footing with me than you have ever held. 
I w r ill inquire about this young Sinclair, and if he is a 
proper match for you, I will not withhold my consent to 
your marriage, provided you will promise to aid me, 
if I should need your help.” 

“ Dear papa, you know I will do all that is possi- 
ble,” was the grateful reply, and May arose from her 
reclining position and stood before him with a faint 
hue of returning color fluttering on her cheeks. 

He interpreted her wistful glance, and bending down, 
impressed upon her brow the first caress she ever re- 
membered receiving from him. Seeing that tears were 
springing to her eyes, he curtly said : 

“That is the seal of reconciliation; and now tell 
me how you have fared with Mrs. Black, and how is 
it that she sleeps on the sofa in your sitting room at 
this hour of the night ? ” 

May flushed, but she spoke the truth — 

“I do not like Mrs. Black, and I am afraid I have 
been a great torment to her ; but she treated me badly 
from the first. She drinks wine for her supper, and 
that she took last night was drugged to enable me to 
elude her vigilance.” 

The father laughed aloud : 

“ So the sheep-dog was muzzled, or rather fuddled 
with strong drink — A pretty story that to get out 
about a woman whose living is dependent on her per- 


528 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


feet respectability. That gives me good cause for dis- 
charging her, and I shall do so in a very summary 
manner. I will write a few lines, and inclose in them 
her quarter’s salary. Good-night ! Get ready to leave 
Thornhill, and then try to sleep, for you have a long 
journey before you.” 

Thorne left the room, and after a contemptuous 
glance at the sleeping governess, he unlocked the door 
of the parlor and went out, taking with him the lamp 
that had been left upon the table. He stalked forward 
till he came to the apartment occupied by Mrs. Ben- 
son ; pausing, he struck an imperious knock upon the 
door, which was replied to by the voice of the house- 
keeper : 

“ Come in, sir : I am in a state of debilitude, but 
you will egseuze that under the sarkimstances. Stand 
to one side Barney, an’ let Mr. Thorne say what he’s 
got to say to the humble detainer what has saved his 
darter from sich a disgraceful thing as runnin’ away 
from him would be.” 

Thorne paused in the doorway, and curtly said : 

“ You did very right, Mrs. Benson, to warn me of 
what was going on, and I thank you very sincerely. 
I only stopped to ask how your rheumatism is, and to 
see if no one was with you who could transmit my 
orders to the carriage driver. This boy can go at once 
to Sam, and tell him to have the carriage at the door 
by six o’clock in the morning. I am going to take my 
daughter away with me and keep her under my own 
eye.” 

“ That’ll be best, sir, for I can’t do nothin’, and that 
Miss Black ain’t worth shucks. In place of ’tendin’ 
to her booktionary doin’s, she’s galvantin round 


AN ELOPEMENT PREVENTED. 529 


a-givin of orders to the people an’ a-talkin’ of siles an’ 
skientific farmin’ till they’s all in sich a fluster that ef 
she’d staj^ed much longer there wouldn’t ha’ bin 
nobody else left on the place. In course, sir, yer’ll 
take her along of yer ? ” 

“I am sorry that it will be impossible for me to do 
so. I shall discharge her as I have no further use for 
her services, and pay her something extra for so un- 
ceremoniously ridding myself of her. I shall leave 
Thornhill with May before Mrs. Black is awake in the 
morning, and you must explain to her all that is neces- 
sary. With your command of language, you will not 
find that a difficult matter.” 

The housekeeper bridled, and self-complacently re- 
plied : 

“ Thank yer for sayin’ that, Mr. Thorne. I can 
hold my own agin most people in the talkin’ line, an’ I 
hain’t no dejection to breakin’ a spear wi’ Miss Black. 
She’s a orfle hifalutin critter, but I think I knows how 
to despoze my words in as expressionable a way as she 
kin.” 

“ No doubt of it, Mrs. Benson ; but I hope you will 
be as respectful as possible to a lady who has stood in 
the position of teacher to Miss Thorne. I wish Mrs. 
Black to be treated with every consideration as long as 
she stays here.” 

“Very well, sir; if she don’t give me more o’ her 
sass I’ll be as perlite as a dancin-master ; but ef she 
goes to fling in her big words at me, I’ll talk back and 
gin her as good as she sen’s. There’s Barney, sir, ready 
to do whatever you tells him, an’ he’s faithful to me I 
insure you.” 

“ I suppose he wrote the letter you sent me?” 

33 


530 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ Yes, sir ; an’ a miserable scrowged lookin’ thing it 
was ; but my hand was in sich a state of disbilitude 
that I couldn’t do nothin’ myself, so Barney writ what 
I told him. He’s a good enough boy, but he’s always 
worritin me ’bout the piece o’ goold I promised him for 
watchin Miss May.” 

Understanding the hint, Thorne produced his purse, 
and taking from it a half eagle, offered it to Barney, 
saying : 

“ Since the debt was incurred on my account, allow 
me to pay it, Mrs. Benson. The letter was worth 
much more than this to me. Now, boy, be off with 
you, and if the carriage isn’t ready to the moment, you 
will find that I can give kicks as well as gold pieces.” 

Barney grasped the money and vanished. 

As Thorne drew to the door of the housekeeper’s 
room, he said : 

“ Good-night and good-bye, Mrs. Benson ! I shall 
not see you in the morning before I leave. I suppose 
I shall find everything in order in my own apartment.” 

“ I hope so, sir, but I can’t say, for I can’t ’ten’ to 
nothin’ in my present state of discompozement. I kin 
only hope that Miss Black aint bin a-rummagin and 
turnin’ things roun’ there too as she has in all the rest 
o’ the house.” 

“ If you have kept the duplicate key yourself as 
you were bidden to do, she could not intrude into my 
sanctum. If she has been in there, I will turn both of 
you off, bag and baggage,” he said, in his sternest tone. 

“ Oh, my, sir ! you give me such a turn speakin’ in 
that flustratin way. I kin jes begin to creep roun’ 
myself, but I went in and ’tended to things to-day, an’ 
you’ll find the rooms all ready for you, for I ’spected 


AN ELOPEMENT PREVENTED. 531 

you wouldn’t be long a-comin’ arter you got that 
letter. ” 

The door was closed, and Thorne moved towards his 
own apartments. By this time it was past midnight ; 
but weary as he began to feel, he drew paper toward 
him, and wrote a polite note of dismissal to Mrs. 
Black in which he enclosed something more than her 
quarter’s salary. He added a postscript in which he 
said : 

“ Excuse me for not waiting till you awoke, but as 
the slumbers of a lady who has drank a quantity of 
wine may^ last an indefinite time, I thought it best to 
remove my daughter before they ended. Last night I 
prevented an elopement, but if you will be prudent 
about mentioning that, I will be equalty reticent as to 
the helpless condition in which I found you when I 
came to Thornhill. W. T. 

“ That insinuation will bridle her tongue,” he mut- 
tered, “ and she need not know that the wine had been 
drugged.” 

Ten minutes later he was sleeping soundly himself, 
oblivious of all that was passing on the other side of 
the house. 

When Nancy reached Dr. Brandon’s, she found Sin- 
clair there, and soon told her story. The young lover 
was very anxious on May’s account and insisted on 
driving back to Thornhill accompanied by the girl, 
who could be sent forward to reconnoitre while he 
lingered near the house till she returned to him with 
her report. 

The two got out at the gate, and Sinclair stood 


582 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


beneath the shadow of a tree within sight of the open 
window through which Thorne had entered, while 
Nancy crept toward those of her young lady’s room. 
A few moments later the lamp was taken from the 
table, and the figure of a man passed from the apart- 
ment which Sinclair had no difficulty in identifying as 
that of the master of the house. 

He waited a few moments, and finding that Thorne 
did not return, he ventured to draw near the window 
and call softly on the name of May. She came swiftly 
from the inner room, and in a moment was beside him. 

In an apprehensive tone, she said : 

44 Oh, Harry, you must not remain here, nor can I 
go with you to-night. My father has been far less 
angry than I believed possible ; and after what has 
passed between us, I feel bound in honor not to leave 
my home, even with you.” 

44 My dear May, if Mr. Thorne will be reasonable 
— if he holds out the slightest hope that he will con- 
sent to our marriage, I will not ask you to elope with 
me, for you know that we reluctantly chose that as 
our only resource. What has he said and to what 
have you pledged yourself ? ” 

“He has promised to inquire about you, and if he 
finds you a suitable person for me to marry, he declares 
that he will no longer object if I will sacrifice a portion 
of my fortune to extricate him from some difficulties 
he apprehends. I cannot tell yet what I shall do, but 
I have promised him that I will not defy him so far as 
to give you my hand without his knowledge.” 

44 He is welcome to make any inquiry he pleases, and 
so far as I am concerned all will be found right. As 
to your money, May, do with it as you please — pur- 


AN ELOPEMENT PREVENTED. 


583 


chase his consent to our union with it, if that is what 
he wants. If life and health are granted me, I can 
more than replace it in a few years. When your 
mother gave you such stringent commands concerning 
your fortune, she feared that you might have nothing 
else to rely on in the future ; but now you have my 
love — my energy to sustain you, and you need fear 
nothing for the life that lies before you. It shall be 
my care to render the path you walk on smooth and 
happy.” 

“ I know it, Harry, and I am ready to make any 
sacrifice that is possible to enable me to place my hand 
in yours and commence the pilgrimage of love and 
duty that lies before us. Let us have faith in each 
other, and all will end well for us. Papa seems chang- 
ed from what he was — he is softened by the new 
attachment he has formed, and he came hither to take 
me to Cape May, that I may meet my future step- 
mother. My cousin, Mrs. Balfour, is there, and she 
will take charge of me. Dr. Brandon will tell you 
that with Ada Digby I shall be quite safe and as happy 
as is possible for me when separated from you. He 
knows what a noble and true woman she is.” 

Sinclair sighed lightly, but he cheerfully said : 

“ It is better to wait, and see what patience can 
accomplish, than to rush into a union which might for- 
ever estrange your father from you. There are very 
few who are justified in making a runaway match ; until 
to-night I thought ours an exceptional case, but in this 
new phase of affairs we should violate our own sense 
of right if we attempted to carry out our design. I 
came hither, because I dreaded the violence of your 
father towards you, but I am so grateful for the 


534 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


promise Mr. Thorne has made you, that I am willing 
to give you up to him a little while.” 

“ Oh, Harry ! if you and papa had met to-night, I 
tremble to think what the consequences might have 
been.” 

“ It was best, perhaps, that we did not ; but you 
need have feared no violence on my part, May — your 
father would have been sacred to me under any circum- 
stances. Imagine my feelings, if you can, when I 
came out from the hotel, where I had been making the 
final arrangements about the carriage that was to take 
us into another State, and heard the message left by 
Mr. Thorne for me. I must see him before he goes 
away, and refer him to those who know me, and will 
vouch for the truth of all I have heretofore stated to 
him.” 

“ An interview will be impossible before we leave, for 
I am to be ready at six o’clock, and papa seldom rises 
before that time. He is never in a good humor in the 
morning, and you had better follow us to Cape May, 
where you can meet him on neutral ground. Give me 
time to make a friend of Cousin Ada, for I rely on her 
to help us to secure papa’s consent to give me to you.” 

Sinclair reflected a moment, and then said : 

“You are a wise little counsellor, May, and I will 
take your advice. I will give your father time to get 
over his natural irritation at the effort I made to take 
you from him, and then seek him. You will see me at 
Cape May within a week, and soon afterward I hope 
that all will be settled to our satisfaction.” 

“ I am sure it will, and now I must bid you good 
night. I have a great deal to do before I sleep, if, 
indeed, I can sleep at all after the excitement I have 
passed through.” 


AN ELOPEMENT PRETENTED. 535 


“ Good night, and good-bye, dearest love ; not long 
shall the light of your sweet presence be wanting in 
the home which is. waiting for its mistress. If your 
father cannot be reasonably propitiated, I will claim 
my treasure in defiance of him, and find means to 
secure it, too.” 

Slay’s head rested a moment on his breast, and their 
lips met. She then withdrew herself from his arms, 
and retreated from the window. The next moment 
Nancy Bean bounded through it, and said : 

“ Here I am, Miss May, come to help you put up 
your things. I rode out with Mr. Sinkler, but I jest 
told him that I wasn’t goin’ back to-night. The 
dragon’s asleep, and in the mornin’ I can keep out’n 
Mr. Thorne’s way.” 

“ I am very glad that you are here, Nancy ; you can 
assist me materially, and after I am gone, you can 

return to L , and make your preparations to go to 

Philadelphia, to take charge of my future home till I 
come to reign over it myself.” 

“ Will yer pa ever let yer do that, Miss May ? ” 

“ I hope so. Let us pack my clothes now ; I feel 
worn out with all I have gone through in the last few 
hours, and I shall gladly rest, even if I cannot sleep.” 

“ Yer jest lay out the things yer want to take, an’ 
I’ll put ’em in the trunk myself. You can lie on the 
sofy an’ look at me while I do it. It’s the last thing I 
kin do for yer, Miss May, an’ I’ll do it all right.” 

May gladly accepted the offer, for she was trembling 
with nervousness. Nancy worked and talked with 
equal energy, while her young lady reclined on the 
sofa and watched her, with dreamy eyes and pre- 
occupied thoughts. 


586 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


At the end of an hour all was ready, and the two 
retired. Nancy took possession of the sofa, but before 
doing so, she closed the blinds of the window in the 
next room, and placed the lamp on the table near the 
sleeping governess. When she went back to May, who 
by this time was in bed, she laughed gleefully, and 
said : 

“ My ! won’t there be a row when the dragon wakes 
and finds you gone ! I jest wish I dared to stay, and 
see the fight out ’atween her and old roomatiz.” 

May laughed, too ; but she said : 

“ I hope Mrs. Benson will stand on her ‘dignitude,’ 
and Mrs. Black will scarcely forget what is due to her- 
self so far as to quarrel with the housekeeper. Be 
quiet now, Nancy, for I must try and compose myself 
to sleep.” 

It was very long, however, before sleep closed her 
eyelids, but at length from sheer weariness she slept. 

May was aroused by the voice of Nancy, who was 
looking down on her. 

u It is a quarter past five, May, and although yer 
was sleepin’ like a top, I thought I’d better wake yer 
in time to git ready for breakfast. I’ll help yer to 
dress quick, an’ ef yer pa comes to the do’, I’ll just 
pop down behind the bed.” 

May sprang up, and commenced her hurried toilet. 
When it was nearly completed, she asked : 

“ Have you seen Mrs. Black this morning, Nancy ? 
I am dreadfully afraid that she will wake up before we 
get away.” ' 

“ You needn’t have no dread ’bout her, Miss May. 
She’s fast enough for two or three hoprs yet. I looked 
in at her the first thing when I got up. I don’t think 
as she’ll be apt to drink wine for her supper after this.” 


AN ELOPEMENT PREVENTED. 537 

At that moment a rap came to the door, and Nancy 
darted to her place of concealment ; but it was only 
Mrs. Gandy, who had been sent to summon Miss Thorne 
to breakfast. 

May went out immediately, and found that Sam., 
the carriage driver, was waiting to take her trunk. 
She stepped back, and made a warning gesture to 
Nancy, who crouched down behind the bed till the 
man left the room with his burthen. Closing the door, 
May then went to join her father at the table. 

Mr. Thorne was looking less jaded than on the 
previous night, but he was silent, and irritable ; he 
hurried his daughter through the repast, swallowing 
his own coffee almost at a scalding temperature, and 
devoured whatever was set before him. But he laughed 
grimly as he arose from the table, and said : 

“ I am anxious to be off before the forsaken gover- 
ness can find the use of her tongue. I believe I had 
rather take a shower-bath under Niagara, than have 
the vials of her wrath poured upon me. Get your 
bonnet, May, and lay this envelope on the table where 
Mrs. Black will see it as soon as she regains sense 
enough to notice anything.” 

May took the letter, hurried to her room, and after 
bidding Nancy good-bye, returned to her father before 
his patience was exhausted. He allowed her a mo- 
ment to bid adieu to Mrs. Benson, and then they were 
whirled away at the utmost speed of the horses. 

Nancy effected her escape through the window, and 

returned to L to deliver the messages to Dr. 

Brandon and Sinclair, of which she was the bearer. 

It was late in the day before Mrs. Black awoke. 
She looked around, slightly bewildered, and wondered 


538 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


why she was sleeping on the sofa with a shawl thrown 
over her. She raised herself and called on May to 
come to her. When no response was returned she was 
alarmed, and started up to go in search of her pupil. 

A chair was drawn up close beside the sofa, on 
which a letter was placed ; peering down at the ad- 
dress she saw that it was for herself, and with a furious 
clutch at it, she cried : 

“ She is gone with her lover, and this is to tell me 
that my reputation as the guardian of youth is forever 
blasted.” 

Although Mrs. Black could not see distant objects 
without her glasses, she had very perfect vision when 
anything was brought almost in contact with her eyes. 
She opened Mr. Thorne’s note, and read it in silent 
horror. That she, above all women, should be accused 
of neglecting the charge confided to her, and from such 
a cause, was more than she could calmly bear. She 
wept, almost tore her hair, and bewailed the loss of the 
comfortable home she thought she had secured ; but 
she gradually regained her composure, and prepared to 
depart with as much dignity as was possible under the 
humiliating circumstances. 

She rang and ordered her breakfast sent in to her. 
When it came, a message was delivered from the 
housekeeper to the effect that a carriage should be sent 

from L whenever she wished to leave Thornhill, 

as such had been the orders of the master. 

To this Mrs. Black replied, in injured tones : 

“ I cannot too soon get away fro in a house in which 
I have been so infamously treated. Let the vehicle be 
brought as soon as possible, and I will shake the dust 
of this place from my feet. I only wish that I had 
never entered it.” 


SUNSHINE. 


539 


Barney was dispatched to town for the carriage, and 
without Venturing on an encounter with so disrespect- 
ful an antagonist as she knew Mrs, Benson would be, 
the discomfited teacher packed her clothing and took 
her departure, whither no one knew, nor cared. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

SUNSHINE. 

T HE next few weeks of May Thorne’s life passed as 
an enchanted dream. She was received by Mrs. 
Balfour with extreme kindness, and Alice and Louise 
vied with each other in their efforts to render her 
happy. Her father treated her with a degree of con- 
sideration never before accorded to her, and his be- 
trothed wife seemed interested in her and anxious to 
win her confidence and affection. 

The pretensions of Sinclair had been fully discussed 
between Mr. Thorne and Mrs. Balfour, and such 
inquiries made by the former as satisfied him that the 
young lawyer was one of the rising men of the day, 
who w r as sure to win both fame and fortune in the 
career he had chosen. Indiscreet as May had been, 
fate had favored her in saving her from bestowing her 
confidence and affection on one unworthy to win them. 

Sinclair came to Cape May, held a friendly interview 
with his future father-in-law, and was permitted to 
prosecute his suit to Miss Thorne with the hope of 
having an early day named for the marriage, provided 
May would sign certain papers her father had caused 
to be prepared. 


540 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


The possession of his daughter’s fortune had become 
most important to Mr. Thorne, for at this crisis he 
heard from the bond given to Andrew Courtnay so 
long ago. A letter came to him from Robert Orme 
demanding immediate payment of the claim which had 
been transferred by the winner to Rosine C. Lapierre, 
and placed by her in Orme’s hands for collection. 

This dreaded claim had hung as an incubus upon 
Thorne for years, and now that it was presented he 
had saved little more than half the sum needed to 
liquidate it. Thorne wondered now what madness 
could have induced him to stake so much at the gam- 
ing table ; had the winner insisted on immediate pay- 
ment he must have been irretrievably ruined, but the 
interval that had elapsed since the bond was given, 
had enabled him to accumulate enough to release him, 
provided May’s thousands were added to his savings. 
He had no scruples as to possessing himself of them, 
for he said to himself that he would make it up to her 
by setting aside a certain portion of his annual income, 
and investing it for her benefit. 

Thorne permitted the sunshine of perfect happiness 
to fall for a few weeks upon the path of his daughter, 
in the certainty that she would make any worldly sac- 
rifice sooner than relinquish what was so unutterably 
precious to her. He said nothing more to her of the 
price that he intended to exact for the consent to her 
marriage, but he made it very clear to Sinclair that the 
money must be paid into his hands, or all hope of gain- 
ing him over abandoned. The lover was willing, nay, 
almost anxious to prove his perfect disinterestedness by 
taking May without a penny to her dower ; but after 
she fully explained to him the ground of her scruples 


SUNSHINE. 


541 


he could not urge her to violate the promise she had 
made to her dead mother, and the subject was tacitly 
ignored by all three of them till the time for action 
arrived. 

This was postponed at the request of Claire. On 
the evening after the reception of Robert Orme’s let- 
ter the two sat together in Mr. Balfour’s private parlor. 
The rest of the party had gone to the beach, but Claire 
complained of a slight headache, and declined going 
with them. When Thorne heard that she was left 
alone he returned at once to the hotel and joined her. 

He found her sitting beside an open window which 
looked toward the restless, moaning sea, with an ex- 
pression on her face which told that her own heart 
fully sympathized with the low monotone which came 
to her ears as a wail over lost hopes and buried affec- 
tions. The sun had set, and crimson and purple 
clouds trailed across the horizon, through the rents of 
which gleamed the opaline sky. 

A fearful struggle had for days been going on in the 
soul of Claire. To crush this man beneath her imperi- 
ous feet had been her one object in seeking him again, 
yet in spite of her struggles to maintain the supremacy 
of her will, she found her resolutions sapped, hour by 
hour, by the insidious love that awakened from its long 
slumber into as new and vivid life as in those early 
days of romance in which she had trusted him so im- 
plicitly, only to be forsaken. 

In vain did she recapitulate all her wrongs to herself, 
and seek to crush the interest he inspired — she could 
not give up her long cherished schemes, and lay aside 
all thoughts of bringing home to him the anguish 
he had inflicted on her — though in her heart was the 


542 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


conviction that, in crushing him, she would destroy 
herself. 

Mrs. Balfour constantly urged her to reveal herself 
in her true character to Mr. Thorne, exchange mutual 
forgiveness, and accept such happiness as might be 
found in renewing the ties so long broken ; but Claire 
was not prepared for this : in spite of the love she 
acknowledged to herself she cherished for him, she 
could not forego the desire to strike as severe a blow 
upon his heart as he had once struck to hers. She did 
not trust him ; she thought if she again placed herself 
utterly in his power ; if she admitted that he had re- 
gained all his old influence over her, Thorne would be 
capable of abusing it as he had once already done. 

In spite of his adoring protestations of affection 
Claire did not believe Walter Thorne capable of treat- 
ing any woman who stood to him in the relation of 
wife with the tenderness she would have a right to 
demand. His temper was haughty and overbearing ; 
he considered himself before every other human being, 
while she, on her side, was exacting, and not less fiery 
than himself. 

This evening Claire had gone over the whole ground 
again, and with a weary sigh, she muttered : 

“We can never be happy together again, so why 
should I hesitate as to walking in the course I have 
already marked out for myself? I am weak, untrue 
to myself, to waver a single moment. How I can 
forget the past so far as to welcome his presence with a 
happy thrill at my heart is more than I can understand. 
After all he has made me suffer, I should loathe the 
sound of his voice, yet — yet it gladdens me in spite of 
myself. Ah ! if I could only believe in him again — 
if I could ! ” 


SUNSHINE. 


543 


“If you could do what?” asked the voice of him 
of whom she was thinking, in most softly modulated 
tones. “ Mrs. Balfour told me you are not quite well 
this evening, and I came back to cheer you up and 
make you forget your indisposition, if that is possible.” 

In spite of herself, the light leaped to Claire’s eyes, 
and a sweet smile curved her lips. 

“ I am not much indisposed ; I have only a slight 
headache, brought on by too intense thought. You 
had better go back to the others, and leave me to think 
out, and solve the problem of my own destiny.” 

“ I thought that had already been accomplished, 
Clara. Your destiny in the future is to be loved, and 
petted as woman never was before by an adoring hus- 
band. This is the thirteenth of the month, and in 
another week I shall have the right to call } r ou mine. 
I count the days which lie between myself and the 
realization of the brightest dream my heart has ever 
cherished.” 

He had placed himself beside her, and throwing his 
arm around her he drew her to his side, till her head 
rested against his breast. Claire made a faint effort to 
release herself, but the firm clasp in which she was 
held vanquished her, and she sat quite still a few mo- 
ments. Suddenly she raised her head and asked : 

“ How can you love me thus when I have treacher- 
ously usurped the place I came to ask you to restore 
to her you once professed to adore ? Is it that you 
find in my nature a want of faith which makes us 
kindred souls? When Rosine learns that I have 
listened to your beguiling tongue what will she think 
— what will she have a right to say of me ? ” 

Thorne lightly replied : 


544 the discarded wife. 

“ What matters it to you, or to me ? She cannot 
come between us to mar our happiness, and I have 
long ago ignored every claim she may fancy herself to 
have upon me. If Rose would be mine again, it would 
not be through any love for me, but through her desire 
to regain the position from which she was thrust 
through no fault of my own, remember. It was my 
father’s will that severed us — now it is mine that 
widens the breach between us. You came, saw and 
conquered ; and she will have no right to complain 
that my heart awoke to new life beneath the influence 
of your smiles. I own that I am flattered that I have 
conquered her who was considered invincible, but I do 
not impute to you any thought of treachery toward 
your cousin. I won you to love me through the con- 
viction of your own heart that I should never return 
to her.” 

“We are thought much alike — if she had come 
hither herself perhaps the result might have been 
different.” 

“We will not speculate on possibilities — I accept 
facts as they stand — and I am more than satisfied with 
the exchange I have made.” 

“Yet Mrs. Balfour assured me that you sought me 
in the hope that you could learn something of Rosine, 
that you might do her such tardy justice as lay in your 
power.” 

“I might have had such a thought — nay, I admit 
that I did have it, but it was the offspring of self- 
interest, I am afraid, more than of any sentimental 
recollection of what we had once been to each other. 
I am going to make a confession to you Clara, and I 
hope you will not judge me hardly — I have at times 


SUNSHINE. 


545 


in my life been a very reckless man — I have thrown 
away thousands at the gaming-table, but I pledge 
you my word never to do so again. It is now nearly 
four years since I met Andrew Courtnay in Wash- 
ington. He played with me one night with such 
an extraordinary run of luck that he won from me a 
sum of money which would have impoverished me if 
he had exacted payment at the time. 

“ He did not do that — he accepted my bond, and 
gave me the singular assurance that as long as my wife 
lived, he should not call on me for a settlement. I 
know what he meant to do : that bond was to be given 
to Rose, to use against me in the time to come ; but I 
was resolved that she should not triumph in my ruin. 
I retrenched my expenditure from that day, and I 
have saved more than half the sum due.” 

“ When Agnes died, I own for a little while my 
heart returned to its old allegiance, but I had not then 
seen you. I thought it would be a good idea to cancel 
the claim by taking my first wife back if she would 
consent to come, therefore I sought information from 
Ada. I met you at her house, and you know the rest. 

“ But the conviction on my mind that Rosine held 
the bond against me has been confirmed to-day. I 
have a letter from a Mr. Orme in New York, who in- 
forms me that it has been placed in his hands for 
collection by Rosine Lapierre. Since she cannot re- 
claim my hand, she seems determined to secure a large 
portion of my fortune.” 

Claire withdrew her encircling arm, and coldly said : 

“ You cannot justly accuse Rosine of such an inten- 
tion, for she refused to accept any provision from your 
father’s estate, and I assure you that she is quite inde- 
34 


546 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


pendent through the munificence of her half brother.” 

“ Yes, she refused what she had every claim to, for 
the purpose of showing her contempt for me — but she 
is older now, and understands the value of money 
better. Since she has heard nothing from you, she 
doubtless considers your mission a failure, and consoles 
herself with striking a blow at my property. Gold is 
a panacea for many ills, and Rose evidently intends to 
get as much of mine as she possibly can. So much for 
her former disinterestedness.” 

All the old resentment of Claire surged up at this. 
This man had never understood, or appreciated her. 
He had crushed her, and she would no longer waver 
in her determination to repay him, cost what it might 
to herself. She said : 

“We will no longer discuss Rose or her motives, if 
you please. She has demanded this money of you, 
1 and you say that you have but half the amount neces- 
sary to cancel this debt of honor. If you tell me this 
as an appeal to me to aid you after we are married, I 
can only remind you of what I have already told you, 
that my property is so tied up that I can only use the 
income arising from it.” 

“ I was not thinking of that means of extricating 
myself from my difficulties, for I had far rather give to 
you, than rob y^ou of what is your own. There is a 
way to obtain the money, and I hope you will not 
shrink from using }^our influence with my daughter to 
induce her to lay aside some absurd scruples she has 
on the score of a promise she made to her mother. 
May’s fortune will enable me to pay the whole of this 
debt, and I need not remind you that, at any sacrifice, 
it must be settled. I should feel disgraced among 


SUNSHINE. 


54T 


/ 


honorable men if I fail promptly to meet the demand. 
In a few years, I can return the whole to my daughter.” 

Claire could with difficulty repress the scornful bit- 
terness she felt as she replied : 

“ It is a singular code of honor which leads a man to 
ask such a sacrifice as this from his daughter, and she, 
too, on the eve of marriage with a poor man. May 
will need her fortune more now than a few years 
hence. Why have you asked so repugnant a service 
of me as to persuade her to do that which may perma- 
nently injure the prospects of herself and her hus- 
band ? ” 

“ My dear Clara, young Sinclair has assured me that 
the possession of the few thousands May can claim, are 
of no importance to him. He is so desirous of proving 
his disinterestedness that he seems rather anxious to 
have them transferred to me : but my daughter hesi- 
tates on the score of that promise to her mother. It 
will be but a temporary loan to me, and the income 
arising from Sinclair’s profession is amply sufficient to 
support the young couple in the modest style in which 
they propose to live. All I ask of you is to disabuse 
May’s mind of the idea that she is committing a wrong, 
by violating her promise to the dead. I think I have 
a right to the use of this money, for all the wrong and 
evil of my life sprang from the belief, on my father’s 
part, that I would gain a magnificent fortune with the 
woman he compelled me to marry. She brought me 
nothing but wretchedness ; she held the little she pos- 
sessed absolutely under her own control, and be- 
queathed every cent of it to her child. I only ask the 
use of it a few years, to save me from comparative 
ruin. I must either sell Thornhill, or alienate a large 


548 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


portion of my income to enable me to raise what I 
need. As the future mistress of my house, you should 
be willing to assist me to retain it. May already has 
great confidence in you, and I am sure she will do this, 
if }^ou assure her that it will not be wrong to do so.” 

With sudden animation, Claire exclaimed : 

“ Thornhill must be retained at all hazards. If that 
is at stake I must aid you to the best of my ability. 
Of course your daughter will sacrifice her own interests 
sooner than see the home in which she was born and 
reared pass into the hands of strangers. But I have a 
delicacy in speaking with May on this subject till after 
we are married. When she stands to me in the rela- 
tion of a daughter, I can say to her what would scarcely 
be proper now.” 

My dearest Clara, I thank 3 t ou sincerely for this 
concession. # You will prevail, as you alwa3 r s do, and a 
few weeks of delay do not signify. I will write to 
Mr. Orme and assure him that the whole sum shall be 
paid within six weeks.” 

“ You may safely do so, for I am certain that I can 
use such arguments as will convince Ma3 T that it will 
be her duty to assist her living father, even if she vio- 
lates her promise to her dead mother.” 

Thorne regarded her enquiringly a few moments, 
and then abruptly asked : 

“ Why did the prospect of losing Thornhill move 
you to such sudden animation ? You have never seen 
the place, and its possession cannot be a matter of 
much importance to you, beautiful as it is. I scarcely 
think 3 r ou will care to live there, for the neighborhood 

is not a lively one, and such society as L affords 

will scarcely be to the taste of so brilliant a woman as 
you are.” 


SUNSHINE. 


549 


The gathering twilight concealed from him the sud- 
den pallor that overspread her face, and she moved 
farther from him that he might not detect the shiver 
that ran through her frame as the memory of that visit 
to his father’s house and all that resulted from it flashed 
on her mind. She steadied her voice, and replied : 

“I have had such vivid descriptions of the place 
from Mrs. Balfour and your daughter that I feel as if I 
knew it well. Besides, there is something extremely 
painful to me in the necessity which compels a man to 
give up the home of his family ; if you can avoid it, do 
so by all means. I have thought of myself as the 
mistress of Thornhill, until it seems an integral portion 
of yourself. I do not wish to make a bridal trip : let us 
go to your home at once, and spend our honeymoon 
there. May can prepare to be married in the next 
few weeks, and under your own roof give her hand to 
the man of her choice.” 

“ So let it be — I shall have you all to myself there, 
for we will not summon our friends around us till the 
time for my daughter’s nuptials arrives. Oh, Clara, if 
you could read my heart — if you could see how proud 
and happy I am to know that I am the chosen of your 
heart, you would comprehend the depth and sincerity 
of the passion with which you have inspired me.” 

Claire arose, and with a laugh, said : 

“ I believe I understand all that, Mr. Thorne. You 
are in earnest now, if you never have been in any of 
your former wooings. I give you credit for sincerity, 
yet I fear that your wedded experience with me will 
bring you little more happiness than you found with 
your last wife. Let us join the others on the beach 
now ; my headache is gone, and I feel as if the fresh 
sea air will brighten my spirits.” 


550 


THE DISCARDED WIFE 


She threw a black lace shawl over her head, and 
they went out together. As they walked toward the 
beach, he gravely asked : 

“ Why should you have a doubt as to your ability to 
render me the most blissfully-contented of men ? At 
last I have found what I have long felt the want of, 
sympathy and affection from the woman on whom my 
own heart is set. There must be love on both sides, 
or there can be no real union, as my hapless fate has 
shown me. I adore you, and I cannot be mistaken in 
believing that you give me in return a fair equivalent 
for all I lavish on you.” 

“Yes — I love you. I cannot resist the power you 
have over me, I confess it ; but I do not glory in it as 
a woman should in the affection she gives and accepts 
from her future husband. You are not a good man, 
Walter Thorne — and only to such is perfect trust given ; 
but such as you are, I love you, and I feel that you are 
good enough for me. I warn you that we shall not be 
happy, for we have within us the elements of discord 
that will make themselves felt. You have your past, 
and I mine. You have not asked me of my former 
life, but in good time you shall know what it has been. 
When that knowledge comes to you, you will under- 
stand why a ghost from it will come to poison all 
dreams of bliss for me.” 

She spoke in a low, rapid tone, as if the words were 
forced from her lips without any volition of her own. 
Thorne ardently replied : 

“ I ask to know nothing but that you love me. I 
know that I am not a good man, but your influence, 
your sweetness, can restore my better nature. I have 
grown bitter, hard and scornful under the galling yoke 


SCJNSHIH E. 


551 


I bore so long, but with you all will be life, and light, 
and joy. I know that you, like myself, have had an 
unhappy wedded experience, but we can atone to each 
other for all that others have made us suffer. The 
ghost shall be exorcised, Clara.” 

“ Atonement, retribution, justification — they under- 
lie all the actions of life,” she said, in a vague tone. 
“ I shall marry you, but what the end will be, God 
alone knows.” 

By this time they had drawn near the promenaders 
on the beach, and they were speedily surrounded by 
their own party. Thorne felt a little chilled by Claire’s 
words and manner, and he began to dread that his new 
castle in the air would crumble into ruins at his feet, 
but he felt that if Claire were buried with him beneath 
those ruins it would be a better fate for him than living 
on without her. She fascinated, enthralled, enchanted 
him to that degree that he felt as if life would lose all 
its value and significance without her companionship. 

When they joined their friends the sudden change in 
her manner electrified him ; the vague sadness that 
had hung around her disappeared as if by magic, and 
she laughed and jested with those around her even 
with more than her usual animation. 

When they returned to their parlor she played and 
sang, but selected the gayest music she could remem- 
ber. When she was asked for a sentimental song, she 
laughed, and said : 

“Not to-night; I am not in a pensive mood; and 
my music always echoes the feelings of my heart.” 

Towards the close of the evening, Thorne approached 
her, and spoke in a low tone : 

“lam glad that the cloud was so temporary. You 


552 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


are a creature of impulse, but I find all your caprices 
charming : 

She looked up at him, and asked : 

“ Do you understand the cause of the reaction in 
my spirits ? No, I see you do not, so I will tell }'ou. 
I was thinking of what we have settled on — anticipat- 
ing the days we shall spend in the solitude of Thorn- 
hill, ‘ the world forgetting, by the world forgot ’ — tem- 
porarily, I mean, of course. I promise you one month 
of happiness, at least, for that I owe you.” 

“ You owe me, rather, a life-time of devotion, in 
return for what I give to you.” 

With a gay laugh, she replied : 

“ I always pay my debts to the uttermost farthing. 
Good night ; I feel tired, and my headache has come 
back. I must go to bed and sleep it off before our 
journey to-morrow. You know that we leave for Phil- 
adelphia in the afternoon, but you are not to go with 
us. You are to stay here, and do penance for your 
sins till you come to claim me. I cannot have my time 
monopolized by you while I am preparing for the 
important event.” 

“ I shall not obey orders. In twenty-four hours I 
will follow you, but I promise not to encroach upon 
your other engagements. Good night.” 

Claire went to her room, but in spite of her alleged 
headache, she did not retire. She sat beside the open 
window in that state of unrest which effectually ban- 
ishes sleep. Now that the crisis of her destiny so 
nearly approached, she felt a dread and doubt of her 
own power to carry out the bitter programme she 
had laid out for herself. She said to herself that she 
would have relented had not Thorne shown such hard 


SUNSHINE. 


553 


indifference to that past which was of such vital mo- 
ment to her. She felt chilled and revolted by what he 
had that evening said of the woman who had placed 
fatal trust in him. At his hands she surely deserved 
more consideration. Thorne evidently thought only 
of himself, for had he not told her that self-interest 
alone prompted him to think of repairing the wrong he 
insisted he had been forced to commit. 

Yet in spite of all, she knew that she loved him — 
loved him with that unreasoning passionate clinging 
which would have led a woman of a different tempera- 
ment to endure all things at his hands sooner than be 
separated from him. But she was haughty as Milton’s 
fallen angel, and all her love for him could -not stifle 
the desire for retribution for the past. 

She arose at last and threw herself upon the bed, 
completely worn out with the conflict of feeling through 
which she had passed. Her head throbbed, but her 
heart ached far more terribly, for her mind was made 
up to adhere to the determination with which she had 
crossed the Atlantic. 

Qn the following morning Claire arose at a very late 
hour ; she scarcely touched the breakfast that was 
brought up to her, though she eagerly drank the strong 
Coffee, hoping it would act as a stimulant, and restring 
her quivering nerves. 

For years she had asserted and believed that her heart 
was dead, but it seemed suddenly to have awakened 
into new and more vivid life, if she were to judge of 
its condition by the bitter pangs that rent it in twain 
when she thought of all that lay before her in the next 
four weeks of her life. 

When she at length descended to the private parlor 


554 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


of Mrs. Balfour, she found no one there save Sinclair, 
who had just come in and asked for Miss Thorne. A 
message came from May, requesting him to excuse her 
for half an hour, as she was particularly engaged. 

When the servant left the room, Claire turned to 
him, and said : 

“ I am glad that I came down so opportunely, Mr. 
Sinclair, for I have something to say to you which is of 
some interest to yourself.” 

Claire had watched the young lover with keen eyes, 
and she believed him worthy of the confidence she was 
about to repose in him. He smiled, took a seat near 
her, and prepared to listen, though he wa$ at a loss to 
know what Madame L’Epine could have to say to him. 
He admired her very much, but he earnestly hoped that 
he should be able to withdraw May from her influence 
at an early day. Sinclair could not understand the 
fitful temperament of a being so unlike himself, and he 
was not inclined to place implicit confidence in her as 
the guardian and maternal counsellor of his future 
wife. 

After a slight pause Claire said : 

“ I find it difficult to speak freely on a subject that 
is important to both you and myself, and I must exact 
of you a promise that what passes between us this 
morning shall be considered as confidential.” 

“ Assuredly, Madame, if such is your wish. Any 
confidence you may honor me with shall be held 
sacred.” 

“ Thank you — I know I can trust you, for I am too 
good a judge of character to be deceived in you. I 
understand from Mr. Thorne that the marriage of his 
daughter with yourself depends on a contingency. 


SUNSHINE. 


555 


Will you be candid with me and state to me exactly 
the terms on which he has told you his consent is to be 
gained ? ” 

Sinclair hesitated a moment, and then frankly re- 
plied : 

“ There is no reason why I shall not tell you, 
Madame, since you- will soon be placed in a position that 
will entitle you to a full knowledge of the whole affair. 
As the price of his consent to our union, Mr. Thorne 
demands of May the surrender of her fortune, allow- 
ing her to reserve a few thousand dollars to supply her 
with pin money, I suppose. So far as I am concerned, 
I would gladly relinquish the whole of it, for I am able 
and willing to labor for the support of the woman I 
marry ; but May has some conscientious scruples on 
the score of a promise she made to her mother just 
before her death. Mr. Thorne has allowed me to come 
hither, to aspire openly to his daughter, in the belief 
that this glimpse of happiness will render May less un- 
willing to do violence to her sense of right, when she 
finds our fate dependent on the concession he insists 
on. I feel like a man to whom the cup of bliss is prof- 
fered only to be withdrawn before the magic draught 
reaches the lips, but I cannot urge May to do what her 
conscience may condemn.” 

“ I partly understood this before, but I was not 
aware that Mr. Thorne made the surrender of his 
daughter’s fortune the absolute condition of his consent 
to her union with you. I know that it is of vital moment 
to him to obtain the temporary use of a large sum of 
money, but I can assure you that it is only a loan, 
which I give you my word shall be repaid before May 
is your wife a week. You may tell her this much and 


556 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


say to her that I have in my hands the power to 
replace her fortune, with something added to it as a 
gift from her father, for the accommodation he asks. 
You must both accept my word alone as a guarantee 
of repayment, and if you can do so, your marriage 
shall take place on the twentieth of October, ex- 
actly one month after my own.” 

“ Oh ! Madame L’Epine, you overwhelm me with 
your kindness. From yourself, from your own re- 
sources, I doubt not the debt will be liquidated, but as 
you will be Mr. Thorne’s wife, and his interests yours, 
I think May may avail herself of your liberality to 
regain what is justly her own. I have no interest in 
it, I wish you to understand that, for I have declared 
to her from the first that her fortune shall be settled 
on herself.” 

With a smile that was very faint and sad, Claire 
replied : 

“ It matters not from what source the money is 
derived, provided it is honestly mine to do with as I 
please. Proceed with your preparations for your mar- 
riage, Mr. Sinclair, and induce May to comply with her 
father’s demands ; it is the only way to secure your 
future, and if it is done at all, it must be done quickly. 
I exact, however, from both yourself and Miss Thorne 
the most profound secresy as to my agency in this 
affair. After you are married and gone, I shall let Mr. 
Thorne know the measures I took to release him from 
his embarrassment without injury to his daughter’s 
prospects.” 

“ Madame, you are an angel of goodness, and I 
earnestly beg your pardon for not before appreciating 
you as you deserve. I place implicit faith in your 


SUNSHINE. 


557 


promises, and I pledge myself that my betrothed shall 
do the same, May loves you already, and your word 
will be to her as good as your bond. I feel now as if 
I have reached firm ground at last, and to you I owe 
this feeling of security.” 

“ You owe me nothing — I am only trying to remedy 
an injustice forced by circumstances on the man I am 
about to marry. Mr. Thorne is not aware of my 
power to aid him in this strait, and I wish to reserve 
all knowledge of it till I inform him that the debt has 
been canceled, and in what manner. I trust to your 
discretion and that of May to betray nothing. , ’ 

“ Of course we shall both be upon honor ; after 
doing so much for us as you propose, we should be 
most ungrateful to forestal the pleasant surprise you 
have prepared for Mr. Thorne.” 

“ No doubt it will be very pleasant ,” she said with 
a slight quiver of her sensitive lips. “ I shall at least 
have the satisfaction of knowing that I have made two 
young hearts happy. I believe you to be worthy of 
May, Mr. Sinclair, and I have seen for myself how 
much in love you are with each other. Your union 
will be founded on mutual faith and trust, and I believe 
I am doing right in trying to secure it before ” 

She broke off abruptly, and colored slightly, but at 
that moment May came in fresh and smiling, to greet 
her lover. She seemed surprised to find him in earnest 
conversation with Madame L’Epine, but the light in 
Sinclair’s face told her that the interview had been a 
very pleasant one to him. The young girl said : 

“ I am glad to see }^ou looking as well as usual, 
Madame L’Epine, but Cousin Ada is afraid that you 
will not be able to make the journey to Philadelphia 


558 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


this afternoon. As you did not come down to break- 
fast, she feared that your headache still troubled 
you.” 

“ I am quite recovered from that, as I will assure 
her myself. I am quite ready, and a little anxious for 
the flitting.” 

She kissed the brow of May, and whispered : 

“ Mr. Sinclair has something to say to you from me 
— trust your fate in my hands, May, and all shall come 
right.” 

She left the room, and May turned to her lover for 
an explanation of her words. When it had been given, 
she said : 

“ I would trust her to any extent, Harry, for she is 
a noble, and warm-hearted woman. I am glad she has 
afforded me this loophole of escape, for I have wished 
a thousand times that I could find any plausible excuse 
for disobeying mamma’s commands. A loan for a few 
weeks, with Madame L’Epine as security for its re- 
payment, is very different from what papa asked. We 
shall be happy at last, thanks to her.” 

“ Then commence your preparations at once, my 
love, for the twentieth of October has been named by 
her for our marriage. I am more grateful for that, I 
believe, than for the promise to repay your fortune.” 

“ So soon ! That is but five weeks from to-day.” 

“I wish it were only five days, for my part.” 

That afternoon the whole party, with the exception 
of Thorne, left for Philadelphia. He reluctantly re- 
mained behind, but Claire forbade him to come with 
them, and he obeyed, though he followed them almost 
immediately. The week that intervened before their 
marriage was occupied by shopping and mantuamakers. 


SUNSHINE. 


559 


Claire’s wardrobe was so elegant and extensive that 
she needed little beside a traveling dress and veil, but 
the trousseau of May was to be provided. This Mrs. 
Balfour took upon herself, and the heart of the 
younger bride elect was elated by the beautiful and 
becoming things purchased for her. 

May relinquished to her father the control of her 
bank stock, and he, in his turn, was very liberal in the 
outfit he presented her. At his request, she reluc- 
tantly consented to lay aside the mourning she wore 
for her mother, but his manner toward her had changed 
so much that she could refuse him nothing ; and she 
reflected that it would be rather awkward for her to 
wear the robes consecrated to the memory of the dead, 
when her mother’s place was filled by another. 

May went with Sinclair to see the home he had pre- 
pared for her, and found Nancy installed as house- 
keeper. The delight of Miss Bean was boundless 
when she learned that all the obstacles were cleared 
away, and her young lady would, in a few weeks, be 
installed as mistress of the pretty suburban cottage. 

The marriage of the long-severed husband and wife 
was very private. It took place in the cathedral at an 
early hour of the morning, and they set out for Thorn- 
hill immediately after the ceremony was performed. 
May was to remain with the Balfours three weeks 
longer, and then the whole party were to be reunited 
in her father’s house, and remain there till after her 
wedding. 


560 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE. 

T HE brief month of happiness which Claire had 
allowed herself was drawing to a close. Thorne 
had devoted himself to her, and he seemed even more 
contented in this new phase of his life than he had 
been in that other honeymoon they had passed together 
so long ago. This was bitter to Claire, for, unreason- 
able as it was, she was jealous for that other self whose 
memory seemed so utterly indifferent to her husband. 

If Thorne had betrayed any regret for his incon- 
stancy, any sympathy for the forsaken one, she might 
have relented, but day by day he told her that never 
before had he loved — never before known what true 
happiness was. 

When she ventured to refer to his first marriage, he 
refused to listen, sealing her lips with kisses and 
entreating : 

44 Don’t bring up that phantom to poison your faith in 
me, Clara. I was little more than a boy in those days, 
and the short-lived passion I felt for Rosine was but a 
pale glimmer compared with that I cherish for you. 
You are the light of my life — the joy of my heart, and 
I ask no brighter lot than will be mine with your com- 
panionship.” 

“ Short-lived passion ! ” repeated Claire ; 4 4 is it true 
that you soon ceased to love that hapless creature? 
Oh, Walter ! this gives me a new and painful glimpse 
of your fickle nature.” 

44 Don’t speak in that tone, my darling. If I have 


CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE. 


561 


been inconstant to one woman and harsh toward 
another, I will atone for it all by my unswerving 
devotion to you. Let the name of Rosine be tabooed 
between us. It is not pleasant to me to recur to that 
episode in my verdant youth, and if I could I would 
gladly bury it in utter oblivion.” 

Claire bent her head down and made no reply, but 
he felt her shiver as if with an ague, and she withdrew 
herself from his encircling arm. In some alarm he 
asked : 

“ Are you ill, Clara ? Why do you look so strangely ? 
One would think that although you are my wife, you 
would be glad to have me regard that early escapade 
of mine in a sentimental rather than in a sensible man- 
ner. Rosine is nothing, can be nothing to me, for her 
image faded from my heart years ago. The interest 
with which she once inspired me has long been dead, 
and if I had been foolish enough to wish to revive it, I 
do not think we could have been happy together. 
Years of bitter resentment on one side and desertion on 
the other could not easily have been condoned.” 

Thorne said this because he believed Claire to be 
jealous of those early memories. He thought she 
wished to probe his soul and satisfy herself that she 
really reigned supreme over the forsaken idol of his 
youth. He could have no clue to her real feelings, for 
he had never suspected her identity. There were 
moments in which shg forcibly reminded him of his 
early love, but he attributed the resemblance to the tie 
of blood between them, which Claire had asserted, but 
that he had re-married his own wife had never once 
dawned on his mind. She recovered her composure 
and said quietly : 

85 


562 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


44 Your assurances satisfy me that your heart has 
utterly shaken off its early allegiance. I shall name 
Rosine no more to you. It is unfortunate that she is 
not as indifferent to the memories of the past as you 
seem to be.” 

44 That is a strange thing for you to say, Clara. I 
know that you love me, yet you speak as if you resent 
inconstancy to another. I wish I could understand 
you, for, at times, you are a strange riddle to me. 
You pique my curiosity, and I begin to wish to hear 
that life history you promised me before our marriage.” 

44 1 cannot give it to you this evening,” she replied, 
with a forced laugh. 44 You shall soon know all my 
past — that is, all in which you can take any interest. 
Our guests may arrive at any moment, and between 
this time and May’s marriage there will be no oppor- 
tunity to dilate on my life experience. When that is 
over, you shall know all I have to tell.” 

44 It will be but a week, and I can wait that long. I 
hear a carriage driving to the entrance now. But, 
Clara, remember one thing — nothing that you can have 
to reveal can change my feelings toward you. Even if 
you tell me that you adored that other man, who, Ada 
says, treated you badly, I will still cling to the belief 
that you now love me better than you ever loved him. 
I will show such tender care for you, that you must 
place me in the highest place in your heart.” 

44 No other has ever held as warm a place there as 
yourself,” she impulsively replied. 44 Believe that, let 
what will happen.” 

“Why, what on earth can you apprehend, Clara? 
Nothing could touch me nearly but losing you, and of 
that there can be no danger. We are both in perfect 


CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE. 


568 


health — we are bound together by legal ties, cemented 
by affection, and I look forward to many years of hap- 
piness in your dear companionship.” 

“ I scarcely know what I meant,” she hurriedly 
replied. “ A sad and brooding presentiment of evil 
has fallen on me, but I will shake it off. Come — we 
must not linger here, for I hear voices in the hall, and 
we must go to meet our friends.” 

In a few more moments they were in the midst of 
the group of travelers, and May threw her arms 
around her father’s neck and kissed him more than 
once. He returned the caress, and then resigned her 
to her new mother, while he welcomed Mr. Balfour and 
his wife to Thornhill with that cordial grace which he 
could display toward those he really liked. 

While they all talked together a few moments Mrs. 
Balfour keenly regarded the husband and wife, and 
she thought : 

“ It is all right at last ; they have found the haven 
of content, and neither one will willingly forsake it 
again.” 

May took her two young friends to the room pre- 
pared for them, that they might remove their dusty 
traveling dresses and make a fresh toilette before sup- 
per was served, and Claire accompanied Mrs. Balfour to 
her apartment, leaving the two gentlemen together. 

Ada threw aside her bonnet and mantle, and turning 
to Claire, eagerly asked : 

“ Have you told him all, Claire ? Have you become 
perfectly reconciled to each other ? Though of course 
you have, for I never saw Walter looking so well and 
so happy.” 

“ I believe he is happy, but it is because he is still in 


564 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


the dark as to my past history. I have not told him, 
Ada ; it is not my intention to reveal myself to him till 
I have perfectly re-established my old influence over 
him. I wished no cloud to cross our horizon for the 
first few weeks of our reunion, but after May is mar- 
ried and gone I shall tell him all.” 

44 It would have been better to have no concealment 
from the first ; but you are a willful woman, and must 
have your own way. You love Walter, or you would 
never have placed yourself in his power a second time, 
Claire, and to that love I trust for the solution of all 
your difficulties. Perhaps it was best to make him feel 
how necessary you are to him before you draw aside 
the curtain and show him the comedy you have played 
so successfully.” 

“ That was my impression, but we have no time to 
talk of that now. In half an hour supper will be on 
the table, and I will leave you to make such changes 
in your dress as you may wish. I will send a servant 
up to assist you.” 

Claire escaped from the room, and she took care to 
afford Mrs. Balfour no further opportunity to question 
her in private during the days that intervened before 
the important one in which she would more fully un- 
derstand the resentful and passionate nature she had 
vainly endeavored to influence. Claire sustained her 
part so well — Thorne was so openly devoted to her, 
that both Mr. Balfour and his wife congratulated each 
other on the good understanding that seemed to exist 
between their host and hostess, and he said : 

44 1 knew all would come right. When two people 
love each other as they do, nothing can keep them from 
being happy together. The revelation of her identity 


CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE. 


565 


with the object of his first passion will fill Thorne with 
astonishment, but he will only feel that he has illus- 
trated the truth of the French proverb, ‘ One always 
returns to his first love.' ” 

Thornhill had not yet been thrown open to the out- 
side world, but on the night of May’s marriage a large 
company was expected to be present. On that occa- 
sion Thorne intended to inaugurate the new style of 
life he intended to adopt ; his house should henceforth 
be the centre of hospitality for the country, and with 
its brilliant mistress, he felt assured that no other 
would be able to rival it in attractiveness. Claire ap- 
parently entered into all his plans for the social regen- 
eration of the neighborhood, but in reality she listened 
with a sad and pre-occupied heart. She would not 
hearken to the pleadings of conscience which told her 
how wrong she was to cast the soul she might have 
redeemed from its worst faults down into the depths 
again, leaving it a prey to gloom and remorse. She 
would only listen to her own bitter sense of wrong 
and harden herself in her resolution to forsake him in 
the hour of his most supreme content, even as he had 
abandoned her. 

On the evening before the bridal, Sinclair arrived at 

L , and after taking a room at the hotel, made a 

brief call at Thornhill. Dr. Brandon, who was en- 
chanted with the turn affairs had taken, had met Mr. 
Thorne in a friendly manner, the latter ignoring the 
part he had taken in favor of the lovers ; the good 
doctor and his family were among the expected guests, 
and few rejoiced more sincerely in the approaching 
union. 

Sinclair was the bearer of a letter to Mrs. Thorne, 


566 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


which had been sent to him from New York, with in- 
junctions to deliver it into her own hands. Claire was 
expecting this communication, and she went out to 
receive him as soon as she heard of his arrival. 

The greeting between them was very friendly, and 
Sinclair said : 

“ I should not have intruded here this evening, Mrs. 
Thorne, but for the express command contained in Mr. 
Orme’s note to place this letter in your hand as soon 
after my arrival as possible. As he said it was very 
important, I feared to entrust it to a messenger.” 

“ Thank you ; I looked for it from your own hand 
alone, and when I heard you were here, I knew the 
errand that brought you. Mr. Orme is a lawyer, and 
an old friend of mine. I trusted to him the settlement 
for May in lieu of the bank stock she gave up to her 
father. If you will excuse me a moment, Mr. Sinclair, 
I will read what he says.” 

The young man bowed, and she glanced over the 
few lines written by Mr. Orme. They assured her 
that her instructions had been carried out, and the 
whole sum paid him by Walter Thorne had been set- 
tled on his daughter. The requisite vouchers would 
be forwarded to Mr. Harry Sinclair within a week 
after his union with Miss Thorne. 

As she replaced the missive in its envelope, she 
smiled brightly upon him, and said : 

“ It is all right, Mr. Sinclair. The temporary loan 
made by May to her father will bear good interest 
when it is repaid to her. I do not wish either you or 
her to cavil at the addition made to her fortune, for I 
assure you it will not be drawn from my own resour- 
ces. I cannot explain now, but in a few days you will 


CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE. 


567 


know how I came to have the control of this money, 
with both a legal and moral right to bestow it upon 
my husband’s daughter as a dower.” 

Sinclair smilingly replied : 

“ Few persons are inclined to cavil at good fortune, 
Mrs. Thorne. I am sure that I am every way your 
debtor, for if you had not played the part of the good 
fairy to May, she would never have gained her own 
consent to disobey her mother’s injunctions.” 

“ Do not speak of obligations to me, Mr. Sinclair ; 
you owe me nothing, I assure you. Chance placed in 
my hands the power to serve both Mr. Thorne and his 
daughter, and I have availed myself of it. When you 
return to your own house in Philadelphia, you will 
find a package there containing a full explanation of 
the whole affair, and by that time you will understand 
my motives for maintaining the secresy I have en- 
joined. Until you know all the bearings of the case, 
you must be as reticent as heretofore.” 

Claire earnestly regarded him, and he hastened to 
say : 

“ Of course I will obey you in the most minute par- 
ticulars. Lawyers know how to keep secrets, you 
know.” 

She laughed, and replied : 

This is not a very important one, but it is my whim 
to have it faithfully guarded till I have given Mr. 
Thorne a surprise I have carefully prepared for him. 
Of course this visit was to me, as you could scarcely 
hope to see May this evening. But as a reward for 
bringing me such good news, I will tell you that she is 
walking in the grounds with Alice and Louise, and I 
do not object to allowing you to follow them.” 


568 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


Sinclair took the hint thus given, arose, thanked 
her warmly, and walked out in the direction of the old 
trysting place, where he found the three girls in the 
bower. After spending half an hour with them, he 
was peremptorily ordered by the trio to return to 

L , by the lower gate, and be seen no more at 

Thornhill till he came in state, attended by his grooms- 
men to assume the responsibilities of a Benedict. 

Alice and Louise were to be May’s attendants, and 
two young friends of Sinclair were to wait on him. 
The elder one, Charles Gardner, was the only son of a 
wealthy merchant in Philadelphia. He had met with 
Alice at Cape May, and been one of her most devoted 
admirers. He accepted the invitation to act as grooms- 
man to his friend, with the determination to avail him- 
self of the opportunity to press his own suit to as 
happy an ending as that of Sinclair. We may as well 
state here that he did this successfully, though their 
union did not take place till a year later, as Mr. Bal- 
four considered Alice too young to bestow her hand on 
her suitor, and her stepmother wished her to see some- 
thing more of society before she settled in life. 

Golden October was in its prime, and the day of the 
marriage was one of its brightest. “ Blessed is the 
bride the sun shines on,” and May repeated it to her- 
self, and fully believed in its truth, for she had perfect 
faith in the man to whom she was about to confide her 
whole future life. 

Mrs. Benson had recovered her health, and her 
equanimity, though the latter was much upset by the 
marriage of her master, and the extinction of her own 
aspiring hopes. But she shook her head among her 
own particular gossips and oracularly said : 


CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE. 


— 569 


“ The new Madame is mighty fine, and uncommon 
perlite. Mr. Thorne lowers his dignitude by allers let- 
tin’ her have her own way, a thing as he never did afore 
to any one. But ’twon’t last. He'll git tired o’ playin’ 
the deludin’ lovyer, and She'll cut up a tantrum afore 
long, as ’ill put and eend to the sicknin’ lovemakin’ of 
two that is old enuff to know better. Mrs. Thorne aint 
no chicken, and he is nigh on to forty, though he don’t 
look it.” 

Such was the consolation the housekeeper took to 
herself, unconscious how true a prophet she would 
prove, and of how terrible a nature the tantrum ” 
she predicted would be. 

A gay and brilliant crowd assembled at Thornhill 
that night. The house gleamed with lights, and the 
music of a fine band, stationed in the hall, swept out 
on the air. A wedding march was played as the bridal 
party descended the winding staircase, warning the 
guests of their approach. 

Alice and Louise, robed in floating clouds of pale 
blue tarletan, looped with white roses, came first with 
their cavaliers ; then the bride and groom, the former 
in white silk, over which was worn a robe of Brussels 
point, with a veil to match, fastened on with a wreath 
of orange buds. This costly dress was a present from 
her stepmother, and the pearls that glittered on her 
arms and neck were the gift of her father. 

It is the right of every happy bride to look lovelier 
on the occasion of her marriage than ever before, and 
many who had passed May by as a merely pretty girl, 
were surprised at the transformation made by elegant 
and becoming attire. Yet the improvement was not 
alone due to this ; the atmosphere of affectionate ap- 


570 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


preciation in which she had lately lived, had lifted 
from her really bright nature the cloud which had so 
long depressed her spirits, and reflected its sombreness 
upon her expressive face. Her features now wore an 
expression of serene content and confidence in the 
future, and all acknowledged that they had rarely ( seen 
a fairer, or more self-possessed bride. 

An Episcopal Bishop performed the ceremony, and 
congratulations were offered not only to the newly- 
wedded pair, but also to the handsome host, and the 
beautiful woman beside him who so gracefully sustain- 
ed herself in her new position. Mrs. Thorne attracted 
more observation and comment than any other present, 
and many speculated on the chances of happiness in 
the third union of the master of Thornhill, and won- 
dered how long the present smiling aspect of affairs 
would continue. All agreed in attributing the change 
in his conduct towards his daughter to the influence of 
the new wife, and many were the hopes whispered 
among the guests that Claire would continue to rule 
the turbulent spirit of her husband for his own good. 
Many shook their heads and doubted the result, for 
Walter Thorne was thought a “ bad case ” by his old 
neighbors, and they were of the opinion that this bril- 
liant stranger had unwittingly entered into the liorrs 
den, in which she would be sure to find the same fate 
which had overtaken her predecessors. 

Claire sustained her part bravely — she was courteous 
and attentive to her guests, gay with the young, digni- 
fied with those of more mature age, and all united in 
the verdict that a more elegant, or attractive woman 
had never graced their provincial society. 

There was dancing for those who liked it, games, 


CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE. 


571 


promenading, and conversation for tffose who preferred 
them, and the hostess flitted from group to group, bring- 
ing with her new animation, and enjoyment : — yet if 
any of those people could have looked into her heart, 
they would have been appalled by the struggle that 
was going on there. In this supreme crisis of her fate 
Claire felt as if it would be easier to die than to inflict 
the blow she meditated upon the husband she knew 
she loved with all the power of her passionate heart ; 
yet she never for a moment wavered in her purpose. 
All her preparations had been secretly completed, and 
this night, amid the confusion of the departing guests, 
she meant to effect her escape from Thornhill, perhaps 
never to return. 

She closed her heart to every relenting whisper by 
repeating to herself : 

“ He has said we could never be happy together if 
reunited, and I believe he spoke the truth. I will go 
and be far enough away to escape his reproaches when 
he learns the trick I have practiced upon him. He 
may never forgive me — but if he does — if he seeks me, 
knowing who I am, I will not refuse to return to him.” 

At midnight a magnificent supper was served, and 
soon after it was over, the guests began to call for their 
carriages. At this crisis, the lady of the house disap- 
peared, and her husband apologized for her sudden 
withdrawal by stating to his guests that Mrs. Thorne 
was suffering from a severe headache, and ho hoped 
they would excuse her. He told them that Thornhill 
would henceforth redeem its reputation, and become 
the seat of gayety, and hospitality, and his guests 
declared themselves so much charmed with the first 
entertainment, that they would gladly accept any future 
invitations extended to them. 


572 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


It was nearly four o’clock in the morning before the 
house was again silent, and after walking through the 
deserted apartments, and seeing that the lights were 
extinguished by the sleepy servants, Thorne took his 
way to his own room, expecting to find Claire asleep. 

To his surprise and consternation, he saw that the 
bed was unoccupied, and he looked into the dressing- 
room thinking she might have lain down on the sofa 
till the noise and confusion in the house had subsided. 
She was not there, and his heart began to beat tumul- 
tuously, and fears of he knew not what, to assail him. 
He was about to ring the bell violently, when a letter 
addressed to himself caught his eye. It had been 
placed in a conspicuous spot upon a small stand drawn 
up near the sofa, and breathless with agitation and 
dread, he sunk down, tore it open, and by the light of 
the lamp which had been left burning in the room, he 
read the following lines : 

“ When you read these lines and understand what 
I have to tell you, you will execrate their writer. 
That is why I fly from your presence, for I do not 
choose to hear myself reviled, for compassing by man- 
agement that justice which you would never of your- 
self have offered. 

“ I vainly appealed to you in favor of your repudia- 
ted wife — of her whose happiness was not alone de- 
stroyed, but her reputation attacked, and I made a vow 
to myself that I would bring home to you the retribu- 
tion you merited, by deserting you in my turn when 
your hopes of happiness were at their culminating 
point. 

“ Do you begin to comprehend the game I have 
played against you ? or is it necessary for me to an- 


CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE. 


5T3 


nounce myself to you in my true character ? I have 
marveled at your blindness in the months of almost 
daily association which have passed since we last met. 
I know that time, and culture have greatly changed me 
from the impulsive child who won what you called 
your heart, but when I came hither to fascinate you 
anew, I had many fears that you would penetrate my 
incognita, and recoil from me as I feel assured you 
would, had you known me as your long-deserted wife. 
The name I assumed was but a translation of the one 
that lawfully belonged to me, as you would have 
known if you had been more familiar with the French 
language. 

“ I have never forfeited my right to bear it, nor con- 
sidered myself free to give my hand to another, 
although you took to your heart the rival you tempo- 
rarily deserted, that you might work me such woe as 
God nor man forgives. 

“ I vowed to reinstate myself in the eyes of the 
world ; I waited through many years for the opportu- 
nity, and at last it came. How adroitly I availed my- 
self of it you know, and to-morrow your dear “ five 
hundred friends ” will also know that the master of 
Thornhill has re-married his first wife to be forsaken 
by her in his turn. I have sent an article to the lead- 
ing newspapers in L , giving a brief account of this 

4 romance in real life/ that those who remember the 
shameful divorce trial, which cast me out upon the 
world with a tainted name, may know that the sup- 
posed paramour was your lawful wife and worthy to 
hold that position, or she would never have been ele- 
vated to it a second time. 

“ Your pride will suffer, and so perhaps, will your 


5?4 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


heart, for now I believe that you truly love me. The 
boyish passion soon burned itself out, but that of the 
fully matured man will prove indelible, and thus I am 
avenged. All the tortures I have borne, will come 
home to you, and for a season at least, you will feel the 
intolerable burden of a vacant, and outraged heart. 

“ Through all the brilliant triumphs I have won in 
society, mine has lain like lead in my bosom, insensible 
to love, nursing but one strong passion, and that was 
the desire to bring home to you the suffering you had 
inflicted on me. 

“ If, since our last meeting, you had shown any 
remorse, or even regret for the past, I might have re- 
lented toward you, and spared you this humiliation in 
spite of my vow. But you plunged, with your usual 
selfish recklessness, into a violent passion for the 
supposed stranger, and refused to listen to my plead- 
ings for myself. Though I left you to infer that your 
lost Rose would gladly renew the vows she had once 
plighted to you, you showed the most callous disre- 
gard to her wishes, and thought only of yourself. Had 
you been less hard, less egotistical, the result might 
have been very different. I should then have accepted 
the advice my best friend urged upon me, and have 
revealed myself to you in my true character, before 
our second union took place. 

“ It is too late now to speculate on what might 
have been ; the hard and repulsive fact stares us in the 
face that we have mutually outraged each other to 
that degree that the angel of conciliation can scarcely 
interpose, and bid us forgive, and forget the bitter past. 
I have from your own lips the assertion that if reunit- 
ed, we could never be happy together, and that decid- 


CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE. 575 

ed me at the last to consummate my vengeance for 
the treachery of which I was once the victim. 

“You were right in your supposition that Andrew 
Courtnay had transferred to me the bond he held 
against you, but you drew from that fact an inference 
most degrading to me when you expressed your belief 
that I wished to secure a portion of the wealth from 
which I had refused to accept a support in my hour of 
direst need. 

“ I have exacted the payment of that debt that I 
might provide suitably for the daughter you were 
willing to impoverish that you might retain your own 
estate intact. The whole sum paid over by you, has 
been settled on May so securely that, even if she 
wished it, she cannot return any portion of it to you. 
My first design was to force you to pay the whole of it 
yourself, but when I found her happiness could only 
be purchased by the sacrifice of her fortune, I induced 
her to give it to you in the shape of a loan, which I 
pledged myself to repay in a few weeks. She accept- 
ed my verbal assurance, glad to find a justifiable 
means of evading her promise to her mother, but she 
understood nothing of the means I intended to adopt 
to secure repayment. Your daughter is a gentle and 
affectionate creature, and she will love you very dearly 
if you will permit her to do so ; but I fear that the 
bitterness of your heart will be poured out on her, and I 
rejoice that I have been instrumental in giving her a 
protector who will defend her from your wrath. 

“ Do not blame Mrs. Balfour for her apparent collu- 
sion with me. It is true that she was aware of my 
identity, but she had no right to betray it without my 
permission, and I allowed her to believe that after our 


576 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


hone} T moon was over I would seek a perfect recon- 
ciliation with you. She has throughout vehemently 
opposed my course of action and pointed out to me 
clearly enough the possible misery that might arise 
from it. I did not hearken to her reasonings, for I had 
already made up my mind that our reunion could only 
be temporary, and to be submitted to on my own part 
for the attainment of the purpose I had in view — to 
mete out to you what you had given to me. 

“ Our accounts are squared — I have bestowed on you 
one month of happiness in return for the one you gave 
me so long ago, and I bid you adieu. Several hours 
must intervene after my flight before it is discovered, 
and they will suffice to place me beyond your reach, 
even if you should desire to pursue me and force me 
to return to your house. After what I have told you, I 
scarcely think you will have the wish to proceed to 
such extreme measures, and I believe that I shall be 
allowed to go upon my way unsought and umolested. 

44 Claire R. L. Thorne.” 

To depict the emotions with which the forsaken hus- 
band perused these lines would be impossible. He 
sat for manjr moments as if hardened into stone, 
motionless, colorless as if death had placed its chilling 
hand upon him, though a volcano of seething thought 
was maddening his brain. His pride, his affections 
were outraged in their most sensitive points, and he 
felt as if this last wrong to himself had exhausted his 
powers of endurance. 

He had just been making such good resolutions — 
his new happiness had developed so much that was 
gentle and tender in the nature he had believed given 


CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE. 


577 


over to sterility, that he had hopes of redemption for 
himself from his worst faults through the influence of 
the woman to whom he had unquestionably given his 
whole heart. 

His whole mature life passed in review before him, 
and he acknowledged that he merited this punishment, 
severe as it was, but it was bitter that the blow should 
have been dealt him by the hand of the woman to 
whom he had twice consecrated the devotion of his 
heart. She might have been the angel of his life, to 
lead him back into the paths of peace from which he 
had so long strayed ; but she had chosen to thrust him 
back upon his own hard and bitter self, and leave him 
to make the best of the broken hopes her reckless hand 
had shattered into fragments. 

With a groan, Thorne sunk back, muttering : 

“ I could have forgiven her, I would have shrined 
her in my heart of hearts, and made her forget that 
early sin against her, if she had only allowed me the 
opportunity. Oh, Claire, Claire ! why could you not 
be generous enough to see that I was sinned against, 
even more than I sinned against you when I was forced 
to desert you ? You have, indeed, canceled your debt, 
for you have broken the proud and haughty heart you 
alone were destined to conquer.” 

He shivered as if with an ague, yet his brain seemed 
on fire. As the hours passed on, he fancied that Agnes 
came to him and mocked him in his anguish ; then her 
face changed to that of Claire, and she hurled such 
reproaches at him as shriveled his heart and seared 
his brain. He prayed them both for pardon for all 
their wrongs, and shouted aloud in his agony when it 
was refused. 

36 


578 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


For many hours the worn out household was buried 
in sleep, and the maniacal cries that issued from that 
distant apartment were not heeded. Mrs. Benson at 
length came out to make her usual morning round and 
issue her orders to her satellites ; the strange cries 
coming from Mr. Thorne’s apartments struck upon her 
ears. She grew pale, and said to the housemaid who 
was with her : 

“ The master has gone mad — jest listen to them 
shouts — I alters thought suffin dreffle would come 
from his marry in’ that ere furrin madam, an’ she’s 
gone and made him a ragin’ mainhack. Where’s some 
o’ the men folks ? I can’t abtrude in his department 
an’ he a-goin’ on that ere way. I shouldn’t wonder ef 
he’s found out something as she’s gone an’ done, an’ 
he’s killed her for it. When he’s in one o’ his rages, 
he'd do anything.” 

Betty rushed away in a violent panic at this sugges- 
tion, and striking loudly upon the door of Mr. Balfour’s 
room, called out : 

“ Oh, sir, come an’ see what’s the matter with Mr. 
Thorne. He’s a goin’ on awful, an’ Miss Benson says 
he’s gone and murdered the mistis.” 

Mr. Balfour had nearly completed his toilette, and 
he opened the door with an alarmed face, while his 
wife sprang from the bed and threw a dressing-gown 
around her. With great effort, she said : 

u Let us go and see what is the matter. I appre- 
hended an explosion when the truth was told, but 
nothing so terrible as this girl suggests can have oc- 
curred.” 

They hurried toward Thorne’s room, and entered it to 
find him walking to and fro with the fatal letter clutched 


CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE. 


579 


in his hands ; and, as he reached the wall at either ex- 
tremity of his promenade, he struck his head with vio- 
lence against it. His eyes were flaming, and the hair, 
which on the previous night had scarce^ been threaded 
with gray, was partially whitened by the shock he had 
received. 

When he saw Mrs. Balfour, he shook the open letter 
violently at her and shrieked : 

“ She is gone — gone from me forever ! you might 
have warned me in time to prevent her escape ; you 
might have told her how I clung to her when she was 
laid low with illness brought on by the baseness I was 
forced to commit; but you would not — you let her 
enter my heart and my home as a thief to steal away 
my life and my reason. I hope your sense of justice 
is satisfied now, Ada Digby, for I am a bankrupt in 
everything — everything ! ” 

With the last word he fell to the floor as suddenly as 
if he had been shot ; and the paper he had so tena- 
ciously grasped fell from his relaxing fingers. 

By this time the servants had begun to collect in the 
room, and with the assistance of one of the men Thorne 
was lifted by Mr. Balfour and placed upon the sofa. 
He hastily gave orders to have Dr. Brandon sum- 
moned as quickly as possible, and sat down beside the 
sufferer to keep guard over him in case he should revive 
before the physician appeared. 

His wife had eagerly glanced around both rooms in 
the faint hope that Claire might be found crouching 
away to escape the fury of her husband ; but, finding 
no trace of her, she took up the letter Thorne had 
dropped and glanced over the opening sentences, in 
the hope that they would afford some clue to the scene 
before her. 


580 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


After reading the first and last paragraphs, she un 
derstood. what had happened; but what to do in so 
unlooked for a crisis she did not know ; even her prac- 
tical sense failed to suggest a remedy for the evil a 
bitter and resentful spirit had led Claire to consum- 
mate. She dismissed the gaping servants, sending one 
of them to request Sinclair to come to her, but forbid- 
ding the messenger to give a hint of the state of affairs 
to May. 

Mrs. Balfour then drew near her husband, and said : 

“Walter has spoken the truth. Claire is gone, 
Heaven knows where ; and the shock of learning that 
she has married him only to desert him, has brought 
him to this condition. Oh, if I had only understood 
her purpose, I would have defeated it at all hazards. 
If I had thought she did not intend to try and make 
him happy, I would have told him all ; but she has 
deceived me as she did him.” 

“ My dear Ada, do not take blame to yourself for 
what you could not foresee or provide against. Who 
could have believed that any woman would be so reck- 
less as to crush her own heart to bring retribution 
home to the one she knew she ruled over? Claire 
loves her husband — I am sure she does, in spite of this 
mad escapade, and we must have her sought and 
brought back to him.” 

Mrs. Balfour drearily shook her head : 

“ I thought so, too, but now I believe that all that 
show of affection was assumed to win him entirely over, 
that the blow, when struck, might tell with stunning 
effect. It has almost destroyed him, but~if she could 
be brought back, I scarcely think it would be advisa- 
ble to attempt it without Walter’s consent. He might 


CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE. 


581 


resent any such effort on our part when he recovers 
sufficiently to understand what we had done. No — if 
these two are ever brought in accord again, it will not 
be through the intervention of others, but by the mu- 
tual conviction that, faulty as each one may be, they 
were made for each other, and cannot live apart.” 

“ But if she is not followed promptly, she may con- 
ceal herself so effectually that no clue to her retreat 
can be found.” 

“If they are to be reunited, fate will accomplish it 
without any intervention on our part. If Walter 
could go in pursuit of her in person, he might induce 
her to return ; but any other messenger would fail.” 

Sinclair here joined them in a state of great agitation. 
He had learned the fact of Mrs. Thorne’s flight, but 
was unable to account for it in any way till Mrs. Bal- 
four briefly explained to him the actual position of 
affairs. When this was done, he concurred with her 
in opinion as to the impossibility of inducing Claire to 
retrace her steps, and come back to apologize for her 
wild freak, and make such peace with her imperious 
lord as would be possible under the circumstances. 

He was ready to go in pursuit of her ; and, if found, 
inform her of the condition in which Thorne lay ; but 
he believed she would never consent to return unless 
assured of full and loving forgiveness on the part of 
her husband. As it was uncertain what Thorne’s 
wishes would be, the three reluctantly came to the 
conclusion that it would be best to do nothing till he 
was in a condition to make his will known. 

He had partially revived, but he lay helpless and 
inert, his eyes roving wildly from object to object, but 
evidently without recognizing them; and the only 


582 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


sound that issued from his lips was a faint moaning 
which seemed like the word, Grone, gone, repeated over 
and over. Dr. Brandon came promptly ; and, after 
examining the condition of the patient, he pronounced 
him suffering from a temporary attack of mania. It 
might pass away in a few days, or the shock he had 
received might prolong it for weeks or months. All 
depended on the vigor of the brain and the condition 
of the nervous system, but in no event did he ap- 
prehend confirmed derangement. Thorne’s recovery 
might be slow, but he would eventually walk among 
men again in the full possession of all his mental fac- 
ulties. 

We pass over the dismay and anguish of May when 
she was informed of the condition of her father and its 
cause. She devoted herself unceasingly to him ; and 
at the end of a few weeks she joyfully perceived that 
his mind began perceptibly to regain its balance. 

As the invalid slowly recovered the power of thought 
and action it was evident that the Walter Thorne of 
other days was dead, and a new man had arisen in his 
place. He was gentle, considerate for others, and 
grateful for the loving attentions lavished on him by 
his child. One of his first requests was to see the min- 
ister of the church in which he had been confirmed, 
the ordinance making him a nominal Christian, at 
least ; and after many earnest conversations with him 
Mr. Thorne expressed the conviction that he was a 
changed man. 

Those around him believed this, also, for he was 
yielding on every point save one : he would not listen 
to any proposals to seek Claire ; he only said : 

“ It is too late now. If she could have been wrought 


CLAIRE’S VENGEANCE. 583 

on to believe that I love her, that I have never loved 
any other than herself, it must have been done imme- 
diately after her flight. I was not in a condition to 
pursue her, but she is not aware of that. If God 
accepts my repentance he will yet restore to me the 
darling of my life, for he knows how much I need 
her.” 

Mrs. Balfour wrote to Virginia in her hope that Mrs. 
Courtnay could inform her of Claire’s whereabouts. 
The reply came, and she learned from it that she had 
made a brief visit to the friends of her youth, but had 
not informed them of her reunion with her husband, 
and its abrupt termination by her own flight. Mrs. 
Courtnay stated that she seemed greatly depressed, and 
was evidently waiting for some news that was of vital 
importance to her ; but, as the days went by without 
bringing what she hoped for, her spirits sunk still lower, 
and at the end of ten days she suddenly left them with 
the avowed intention of embarking for Europe, though 
she explicitly said she should not again make Paris her 
place of abode. 

When this was communicated to Thorne, he lan- 
guidly said : 

44 She expected me to seek her there. I could not 
do it, and now all that remains to me is to wait and 
hope. I will write to her Parisian address as soon as 
I am able, and if I do not hear from her, I will go to 
Europe when I think her resentful feelings have had 
time to cool. I think we are fairly quits now, and we 
can begin to build our future on a new and better foun- 
dation.” 

May did not take possession of her new home as 
soon as she anticipated. She remained with her father 


584 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


through the autumn and winter, and a strong and tender 
affection grew up between them. Sinclair visited Phil- 
adelphia a few times, but he spent the greater portion 
of his time at Thornhill in the companionship of his 
wife and her father. They formed a very united fam- 
ily, and but for the absence of the mistress of the place, 
as perfect happiness as earth affords might have been 
found there. 

Mr. Balfour and his family removed to Philadelphia 
in November, and took possession of the beautiful 
place he had purchased not very far from the cottage 
home of Sinclair. 

When spring opened no reply had come from Claire, 
and Thorne grew restless and sick with hope deferred. 
He made preparations for his contemplated tour, and 
in May set out on the quest on which he had deter- 
mined. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE HUSBAND’S SEARCH. 

W ALTER THORNE sailed on a French packet, 
and after a pleasant voyage landed at Havre on 
the evening of a bright day in the latter part of May. 
He went on to Paris immediately, and commenced his 
inquiries for his lost wife as soon as it was possible to 
do so. 

Mrs. Balfour had furnished him with all the informa- 
tion in her possession which could be a guide to him. 
Thorne called on the former partner of M. Latour, but 
from him he could learn nothing, beyond the fact that 


THE HUSBAND’S SEARCH 


585 


Claire had resumed the name by which she had been 
so long known, and had set out on a tour which she 
declared would be of indefinite length. 

Latour was let to strangers, and the income derived 
from that and her other resources was forwarded to a 
banking house in Geneva as it fell due. Beyond that 
the firm knew nothing of Madame L’Epine or her 
movements. 

Furnished with this meagre clue Thorne set out for 
Switzerland, determined to find his wife, and to be re- 
conciled to her, if such a thing were possible. When 
he reached Geneva he lost no time in calling on Messrs. 
Hoffner to furnish him with the present address of 
Madame L’Epine, but this they declined doing, as that 
lady had expressly prohibited them from betraying her 
retreat to any friend who might seek to penetrate the 
seclusion in which she chose to bury herself. 

After a struggle with himself Thorne confided to 
the head of the firm the fact of his marriage with 
Claire, and her elopement from his house on account 
of a misunderstanding which he was most anxious to 
correct. He declared his conviction that, if a personal 
interview could be obtained, he had no doubt that a 
perfect reconciliation would ensue. 

The white-haired man listened to him with sympa- 
thetic attention, but he declared that the pledge he had 
given to Madame L’Epine to keep the secret of her 
retreat must remain inviolate. The utmost he could 
do was to name the country in which she had taken 
up her abode. She had gone to Italy with the purpose 
of remaining there several years. The point to which 
her letters were sent he would not indicate, but if Mr. 
Thorne was in earnest he would traverse the peninsula, 
and in some isolated nook he would find his wife. 


586 the discarded wife. 

Thorne inquired if Hoffner would forward a letter to 
Claire from himself. To this the banker consented, 
and he wrote such an appeal as he thought must move 
her if she had ever really loved him. He entreated 
her to return to him, and they would commence their 
life anew. He declared his nature to be entirely 
changed — that he had repented of his former actions, 
and he believed his repentance had been accepted at a 
higher tribunal than that of earth. 

It was a manly and affectionate letter, but it was 
destined never to reacli the hands for which it was 
designed, as the writer afterward learned. When 
weeks lapsed into months and no reply came, Thorne 
felt almost disheartened ; but it was characteristic of 
Walter Thorne that what he tenaciously desired to 
possess he would never give up ; and he set out on a 
pilgrimage which led him through every nook and cor- 
ner of the classic land which he had often dreamed of 
exploring, but never with so sick a heart as he now 
bore within him. 

He avoided the large cities, or only spent a few days 
in them when they lay upon his route. He rested in 
every secluded hamlet with any pretensions to pictur- 
esque beauty, and finally took up his old character of a 
wandering artist. He filled his portfolio with studies 
from nature, and the employment served to distract his 
mind from the weary doubts and hopes that alternately 
filled it. 

Thorne remained long enough in each hamlet to sat- 
isfy himself that no one answering to the description of 
Claire was to be found in it ; and as months lapsed into 
years he began almost to despair of success in his 
quest. 


THE HUSBAND’S SEARCH. 


587 


Two years had passed away in this unsatisfactory 
manner, and letters from home urged him to return, 
and give up the hope of ever being reunited to a 
woman who seemed determined to evade all his efforts 
to find her. May wrote to him of her beautiful boy 
who bore his name, and entreated him to return to the 
children who would do all that was possible to render 
his life happy and contented. 

Thorne reflected on the contents of this letter, and 
finally concluded that, after so many disappointments, 
it was useless to prolong his fruitless search. He had 
explored Italy very thoroughly, but he was unwilling 
to leave Europe without seeing the mountain scenery 
of Switzerland. 

It was again summer, and he was glad to turn his 
steps from the land of the sun and find some green 
Alpine valley in which he could rest from his weary 
wanderings and reconcile his desolate soul to the future 
that lay before him. Claire was lost to him forever, 
and he must reconcile himself as well as he could to 
live without her. 

Thorne joined a party of Americans whose acquaint- 
ance he accidentally made, and entered the valley of 
Grindenwald, after descending the Wengern Alps. 
He made sketches of the grand scenery, and tried to 
interest himself in the sublime aspects of nature, but 
his old fire seemed to have deserted him ; the one hope 
that had so long sustained him had died out of his 
heart, and he felt as if nothing was now left that was 
worth living for. 

Finding the society of the gay party of travelers 
insupportable, in his present frame of mind, he sepa- 
rated from them, and employing a guide* went on alone 


588 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


through the pass of Brunig to the picturesque valley 
of Meyrengen. Enclosed in two parallel ranges of 
hills, fringed with numerous cascades, the spray of 
which glitters white in the bright sunshine, the green 
vale lay placid and dreamlike in the clasp of the 
snow-clad mountains which rise above each other in a 
seemingly endless panorama. At the farther end, 
enclosed by a rampart of mountains, is the Lake of 
Brienze, and it was this which had chiefly attracted 
W alter Thorne to the spot. 

For several nights in succession he had dreamed of 
this sheet of water. He thought that Agnes came to 
him, and said, “ I forgive you, Walter, for all you 
made me suffer, and I bless you for giving happiness to 
my child. I will reward you by indicating where you 
had better go if you would regain what you have lost. 
Seek the green vale in which the Lake of Brienze is 
found.” 

Thorne paid little attention to this dream at first, for 
in his visions Agnes had often visited him since her 
death. But when it was repeated night after night, 
and he would awake with the last words seemingly 
ringing in his ears, “ Seek the green vale in which the 
Lake of Brienze is found,” he began to attach some 
importance to it. 

He reached it with a faint gleam of hope in his heart, 
but that died out as day after day passed : he had 
explored every accessible spot — visited the falls of 
Griesbach, and filled his portfolio with sketches — yet 
among the tourists he encountered he found no one 
that reminded him of his lost Claire. 

Execrating his own credulity in placing faith in a 
dream, Thorne prepared to depart, more depressed 


THE HUSBAND’S SEARCH. 589 

than ever ; but he thought he would take one more 
moonlight row upon the placid waters of the lake. 

The night was clear and starlit ; the small boat was 
rowed by a single man, and Thorne, buried in sad 
reverie, reclined upon the seat. Other parties were 
also on the lake, and for them the Alp horn was blown, 
its wild notes floating over the still waters, and echoed 
back in elfin sounds from the everlasting hills. 

Thorne raised his head and bade the oarman cease 
rowing, that he might thoroughly enjoy the effect. 
They had crossed the lake, and were floating in the 
shadow of the cliffs — nestled among them was a small 
cottage, almost covered with trailing vines. A balcony 
that overhung the water jutted out from its side, and a 
lady dressed in white stood upon it, holding a small 
child in her arms. 

Thorne was so near that he could hear the imperfect 
speech of the child, as he uttered his rapturous delight 
in the weird music made by the distant horn, though 
he could not distinguish the low tones of the mother. 
Both spoke in his native tongue, and he concluded that 
the picturesque cottage had been chosen by some 
English family as a temporary home. 

Suddenly there was a scream and a plash, and he saw 
that the boy had sprung from his mother’s arms into 
the lake below. Thorne was a strong swimmer, and it 
was the work of a moment to throw aside his coat, 
and plunge in after the infant. When he rose to the 
surface, the child was within a few feet of him, and 
without much effort he drew the tiny, struggling form 
in his strong arms, and struck out for a flight of stone 
steps, which led down to the water. 

From the moment a preserver appeared the lady’s 


590 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


shrieks had ceased, for she saw that her darling would 
be saved. She rushed into the house, seized a lamp 
that burned upon a table, and hurried to the platform 
above the lake stairs. 

The mother did not once look at the man who had 
performed this inestimable service for her, for she had 
neither eyes nor ears save for the small morsel of 
humanity he carried in his arms. Her hair had fallen 
over her face, but the sound of her voice thrilled to 
his soul as she exclaimed : 

“ Oh, m}' baby-love, my darling, precious child ! how 
shall I ever repay you, sir, for saving his dear, little 
life ? Without him, I should have nothing to live for ; 
he is my all — my all ! ” Still, without glancing at the 
dripping figure before her, she snatched the child to 
her breast, and placing the lamp in Thorne’s hand, 
went on. “ Come in, sir ; I cannot let you cross the 
lake in your wet garments. I must know who has 
made me his debtor for life. Ah ! I can never express 
to you the gratitude that fills my heart.” 

While thus speaking, she was caressing and quieting 
her child, and the three entered the principal apart- 
ment of the cottage before Thorne found voice or 
courage to utter a word. His heart was throbbing as 
if it would burst from his bosom, and his lips seemed 
glued together. 

Suddenly the child stretched his arms toward his 
preserver, and said : 

“ Papa — papa I Muvver, he turn — don’t you see he 
turn ! ” 

Thorne snatched him to his heart with one hand, 
and throwing the other arm around his mother, fer- 
vently said : 


THE HUSBAND’S SEARCH. 


591 


“ Yes, I have come to claim you both, for }^ou 
belong to me, and I will have my own. Oh, Claire, 
my love, my darling, my long-sought wife, how could 
you sever yourself from me so long ? How could you 
conceal from me the birth of our son, for this boy is 
mine — he is a miniature of myself — and you have 
taught him to know me, too.” 

He might have talked on long without interruption, 
for Claire had fainted on his breast. 

At this crisis a servant-girl came running into the 
room, frightened half out of her wits at the account 
of the accident given her by the boatman, who was 
tranquilly awaiting the return of his passenger at the 
bottom of the steps. 

Thorne gave her the child, briefly saying : 

“ I am the husband of your mistress, so you may 
leave me to restore her from her swoon. Change the 
boy’s clothes immediately, and do not return here till 
you are summoned.” 

The girl looked doubtfully at him, but when she 
saw the strong resemblance between himself and the 
child he held out to her, she no longer questioned the 
truth of his words. She took the little one and went 
without a word to perform the duty delegated to her. 

Thorne laid his precious burden upon a wide divan 
that stood against the wall, and kneeling beside her, 
kissed her pale lips and sealed eyelids till she awoke 
to consciousness, at the same time murmuring words 
of such tender endearment as told her how fondly she 
was still beloved. 

Claire listened to them with closed eyes a few mo- 
ments after her senses had perfectly returned ; then 
suddenly lifting herself, she threw her arms around 
his neck and faintly said : 


592 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


“ The service you have this night rendered me 
cancels all the past. Let us exchange forgiveness, 
Walter, for I know now that you love me, and through 
all, my heart has clung to you. But for my child I 
must have died in the isolation to which I had con- 
demned myself ; but he was given me as a precious 
consolation ; and you have saved him to me — you, whom 
I so dreaded to encounter, lest you should tear him 
from me and refuse to take me back after the dreadful 
ruse I played against you.” 

For many moments Thorne clasped her to his pant- 
ing bosom, while tears flowed from his ey^s upon her 
dishevelled hair. At length he held her from him and 
solemnly said : 

“ I swear to you by the Eternal goodness that has 
restored you to me, to make amends for all the unhap- 
piness I have caused you. Refuse to take you back, 
Claire ! Have I not sought you for two years past ? 
Have I not } r earned to clasp you to my heart, and 
breathe out all the love and remorse that filled it ? I 
have asked of Heaven but one boon, and that was, to 
restore to me my lost darling, and soften her resentful 
nature till she fully and freely forgives me. That God 
has accepted my late repentance I now know, for he 
has granted my prayer.” 

“ And I too have much to be forgiven,” whispered 
the voice which sounded to him as the sweetest music 
he had ever heard. “ I left you, Walter, with a break- 
ing heart, and I lingered among my friends in Virginia, 
hoping that you would follow me and take me to your 
heart again. When you did not come I returned to 
Europe and buried myself in Southern Italy. There 
my child was born, and a few weeks afterward I 


THE HUSBAND’S SEARCH. 


593 


vaguely learned, through my banker, that you were in 
pursuit of me. I thought then it was too late for a 
reconciliation. You had not sought me when you 
might, and I dreaded that you only wished to take 
from me my only treasure, and leave me to the deso- 
lation I merited. It was a foolish fear I now know, 
but I acted on it. I removed from place to place, and 
finally came hither for change of air for little Walter. 
I have been here but a few weeks, and but for the ac- 
cident of to-night we might never have met again.” 

“ But my last letter, Claire — did not that reassure 
you?” * 

“ I have never had a line from you since the day we 
parted. Orders were left both in Paris and Geneva to 
forward my letters if any came for me ; in two years I 
have had but one, and that was from Mrs. Courtnay. 
She wrote to me that Mrs. Balfour had endeavored to 
learn from her where I was to be found, but she gave 
me no reason to suppose that you instigated the inquiry. 
If you were interested in it, why did you delegate the 
task of writing to another ? ” 

“ I did not do so. Mrs. Balfour wrote without con- 
sulting me, for I was not in a condition to attend to 
anything. I will not pain your heart, Claire, by tell- 
ing you how much I suffered when I learned that a 
second time I had lost the angel of my life — the last 
time through no fault of m}^ own. I believe I should 
not have had the courage to live on, if I had not dis- 
covered that you took away with you the colored pho- 
tograph of myself which hung in your dressing-room. 
That assured me that I held a warm place in your 
heart in spite of your flight. You dreaded my re- 
proaches when I learned your identity, but you need 
37 


594 


THE DISCARDED WIFE. 


not have done so. I should have loved you all the 
better for knowing that I had a double right to do so.” 

“ I did not comprehend the strength of the tie that 
binds me to you, Walter, or I should never have left 
you. I repented that I had not stayed, and borne the 
heaviest burden of your wrath. I married you a second 
time that I might inflict on you as deep anguish as you 
had once made my portion ; but day by day my heart 
awoke from its long torpor to find that I had only laid a 
snare for my own feet. I loved you as deeply as in those 
early days in the valley, but I had dug a pit between 
you and myself, which I thought could not be bridged 
over. When I fled, I took the picture you refer to, 
that I might at least possess a shadow of yourself. I 
have taught our boy to know it, and call it papa, and 
that is how he came to recognize you to-night.” 

“ The dear little fellow ! Let us have him back, that 
I may caress him, and realize how happy I am to be the 
father of a living son, and that child yours.” 

“I will call his nurse, but you are wet through. 
You must first change your clothes. Fortunately the 
courier who traveled with me when I came here left a 
suit of linen to be done up for him by the time I should 
need his services again. You can borrow that, and 
have your own things dried.” 

“ And the boatman must be dismissed, as I shall 
leave this retreat no more till I can remove my treas- 
ures with me.” 

The man accepted the explanation given him in 
stolid silence. He pocketed the liberal gratuity offered 
him with a chuckle of satisfaction, and went upon his 
way. In half an hour Thorne had changed his dress, 
and was again in the sitting-room with Claire beside 


THE HUSBAND’S SEARCH. 


595 


him, and his son upon his knee. The little fellow 
showed no shyness toward him ; and, as he kissed his 
father and purled his whiskers, he often repeated : 

44 Papa turn : ma no ky now.” 

44 Claire blushed, and explained : 

44 1 often wept when I showed your picture to him ; 
and when he could first speak, he would ask me, 
4 What for you ky ? ’ I always told him, because papa 
would never come to us. He knew you at once, though 
your hair is grayer and your face sadder than in the 
image I stole away.” 

44 My face will brighten now, my love, for it will 
reflect the 4 peace that passeth understanding ’ which 
reigns in my heart.” 

The remainder of the summer was passed in the cot- 
tage, in which the reunion of Thorne and his wife took 
place. They spent two more years in traveling through 
the most interesting portions of Europe, and then 
returned to their native land to be joyfully welcomed 
by the friends who heard of their meeting and its result 
with unfeigned thankfulness. Neither of them wished 
to live at Thornhill ; so the place was sold, and a new 
and beautifully embellished home purchased near Phil- 
adelphia. But Mr. Thorne and his wife visited the 
place once before it passed into the hands of strangers, 
and he showed her the portrait and roll of hair he had 
so sacredly guarded. Claire, with tears brimming in 
her eyes, said : 

“Ah, if I had seen these, I could never have carried 
out my vengeance ! ” 


THE END. 


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Series, cloth, $1 50 j Series, cloth, $1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 2 d j Dow’s Patent Sermons, 4th 

Series, cloth 1 50 I Series, cloth 1 50 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.00 eaeh. 

WILKIE COLLINS’ BEST WORKS. 


Basil; or, The Crossed Path..$l 50 | The Dead Secret. 12mo $1 60 

Above are each in one large duodecimo volume, bound in cloth. 


The Dead Secret, 8vo 

50 

Miss or Mrs ? 

.. 5# 

Basil; or, the Crossed Path,. 

75 

Mad Monkton, 

.. 50 

Hide and Seek, 


Sights a-Foot, 

.. 50 

After Dark 

75 

The Stolen Mask, 

... 25 

The Queen’s Revenge,... 75 | 

The Yellow Mask,... 25 | Sister Rose,, 

.. 25 


The above books are each issued in paper cover, in octavo form. 


FRANK FORRESTER’S SPORTING BOOK. 

Frank Forrester’s Sporting Scenes and Characters. By ITenry Wil- 
liam Herbert. With Illustrations by Darley. Two vols., cloth,. ..$4 00 


1^“ Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on reeeipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


4 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


BOOKS FOR PRIVATE STUDY AND SCHOOLS. 

The Lawrence Speaker. A Selection of Literary Gems in Poetry and 
Prose, designed for the use of Colleges, Schools, Seminaries, Literary 
Societies. By Philip Lawrence, Professor of Elocution. 600 pages..$2 0® 
Comstock's Elocution and Model Speaker. Intended for the use of 
Schools, Colleges, and for private Study, for the Promotion of 
Health, Cure of Stammering, and Defective Articulation. By An- 
drew Comstock and Philip Lawrence. With 236 Illustrations 2 00 

The French, German, Spanish, Latin and Italian Languages Without 
a Master. Whereby any one of these Languages can easily be 
learned by any person without a Teacher, with the aid of this 

book. By A. H. Monteith. One volume, cloth 2 00 

Comstock's Colored Chart. Being a perfect Alphabet of the Eng- 
lish Language, Graphic and Typic, with exercises in Pitch, Force 
and Gesture, and Sixty-Eight, colored figures, representing the va- 
rious postures and different attitudes to be used in declamation. 

On a large Roller. Every School should have a copy of it, 5 00 

Liebig's Complete Works on Chemistry. By Baron Justus Liebig... 2 ©0 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following books are each issued in one large duodecimo volume, 
bound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or each one is inpaper cover, at $1.50 each. 


The Initials. A Love Story. By Baroness Tautphoeus, $1 75 

Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “ Zaidee," 1 75 

Family Pride. By author of “Pique," “ Family Secrets,” etc 1 75 

Self-Sacrifice. By author of “ Margaret Maitland,” etc 1 75 

The Woman in Black. A Companion to the “Woman in White,”... 1 75 

A Woman's Thoughts about Women. By Miss Muloch, 1 75 

Flirtations in Fashionable Life. By Catharine Sinclair, 1 75 

False Pride ; or, Two Ways to Matrimony. A Charming Book, 1 75 

The Heiress in the Family. By Mrs. Mackenzie Daniel, 1 75 

The Heiress of Sweetwater. A Charming Novel, 1 75 

Woman’s Wrong. By Mrs. Eiloart, author of “St. Bede’s,” 1 75 

A Lonely Life. By the author of “Wise as a Serpent,” etc 1 75 

The Macdermots of Ballycloran. By Anthony Trollope, 1 75 

Lost Sir Massingberd. By the author of “ Carlyon’s Year,” 1 75 

The Forsaken Daughter. A Companion to “Linda,” 1 75 

Love and Liberty. A Revolutionary Story. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 
Rose Douglas. A Companion to “ Family Pride,” and “ Self Sacrifice,” 1 75 
Family Secrets. A Companion to “Family Pride,” and “Pique,”... 1 75 

The Morrisons. By Mrs. Margaret Hosmer, 1 75 

My Son's Wife. By author of “ Caste,” “ Mr. Arle,” etc 1 75 

The Rich Husband. By author of “ George Geith,” 1 75 

Harem Life in Egypt and Constantinople. By Emmeline Lott, 1 75 

The Rector’s Wife; or, the Valley of a Hundred Fires, 1 75 

Woodburn Grange. A Novel. By William Howitt, 1 75 

Country Quarters. By the Countess of Blessington, 1 75 

Out of the Depths. The Story of a “Woman’s Life,” 1 75 

The Coquette; or, the Life and Letters of Eliza Wharton, 1 75 

The Pride of Life. A Story of the Heart. By Lady Jane Scott...... 1 75 

The Lost Beauty. By a Noted Lady of the Spanish Court, 1 75 

Rome and the Papacy. A History of the Men, Manners and Tempo- 
ral Government of Rome in^the Nineteenth Century, as admin- 
istered by the Priests. With a Life of Pope Pius IX., 1 75 

Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on Reeeipt of Retail Pricey 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 5 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following books are each issued in one large duodecimo volume^ 
bound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or each one is in paper cover at $1.50 each. 

My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester. A Charming Love Story, $1 75 

The Count of Monte-Cristo. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 75 
The Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, price $1.00; or cloth,.. 1 75 

Camille; or, the Fate of a Coquette. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 

The Quaker Soldier. A Revolutionary Romance. By Judge Jones,.... 1 75 
The Man of the World. An Autobiography. By William North,... 1 75 
The Queen’s Favorite; or, The Price of a Crown. A Love Story,... 1 75 

Self Love; or, The Afternoon of Single and Married Life, 1 75 

The Dead Secret. By Wilkie Collins, author “ The Crossed Path,”... 1 75 
Memoirs of Vidocq, the French Detective. Ilis Life and Adventures, 1 75 

The ClyfFards of Clyffe, by author of “Lost Sir Massingberd,” 1 75 

Camors. “The Man of the Second Empire.” B}" Octave Feuillet,.. 1 75 
Life, Speeches and Martyrdom of Abraham Lincoln. Illustrated,... 1 75 

The Crossed Path; or Basil. By Wilkie Collins, 1 75 

Indiana. A Love Story. By George Sand, author of “ Consuclo,” 1 75 
The Belle of Washington. With her Portrait. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 
Cora Belmont; or, The Sincere Lover. A True Story of the Heart,. 1 75 
The Lorer’s Trials; or Days before 1776. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison, 1 75 
High Life in Washington. A Life Picture. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 

The Beautiful Widow; or, Lodore. By Mrs. Percy B. Shelley, 1 75 

Love and Money. By J. B. Jones, author of the “Rival Belles,”... 1 75 
The Matchmaker. A Story of High Life. By Beatrice Reynolds,.. 1 75 
The Brother’s Secret ; or, the Count De Mara. By William Godwin, 1 75 
The Lost Love. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “ Margaret Maitland,” 1 75 
The Roman Traitor. Bv Henry William Herbert. A Roman Story, 1 75 


The Bohemians of London. By Edward M. Whitty, 1 75 

The Rival Belles; or, Life in Washington. By J. B. Jones, 1 75 


The Devoted Bride. A Story of the Heart. By St. George Tucker, 1 75 
Love and Duty. By Mrs. Hubback, author of “ May and December,” 1 75 
Wild Sports and Adventures in Africa. By Major W. C. Harris, 1 75 
Courtship and Matrimony. By Robert Morris. With a Portrait,... 1 75 


The Jealous Husband. By Annette Marie Maillard, 1 75 

The Refugee. By Herman Melville, author of “ Omoo,” “ Typee,” 1 75 

The Life, Writings, and Lectures of the late “Fanny Fern,” 1 75 

The Life and Lectures of Lola Montez, with her portrait, 1 75 

Wild Southern Scenes. By author of “ Wild Western Scenes,” 1 75 

Currer Lyle ; or, the Autobiography of an Actress. By Louise Reeder. 1 75 
Coal, Coal Oil, and all other Minerals in the Earth. By Eli Bowen, 1 75 

The Cabin and Parlor. By J. Thornton Randolph. Illustrated, 1 75 

Jealousy; or, Teverino. By George Sand, author of “ Consuclo,” etc. 1 75 

The Little Beauty. A Love Story. By Mrs. Grey, 1 75 

Secession, Coorcion, and Civil War. By J. B. Jones, 1 75 

Six Nights with the Washingtonians. By T. S. Arthur 1 75 

Lizzie Glenn ; or, the Trials of a Seamstress. By T. S. Arthur, 1 75 

Lady Maud ; or, the Wonder of Kingswood Chase. By Pierce Egan, 1 75 

Wilfred Montressor ; or, High Life in New York. Illustrated, 1 75 

The Old Stone Mansion. By C. J. Peterson, author “ Kate Aylesford,” 1 75 
Kate Aylesford. By Chas. J. Peterson, author “ Old Stone Mansion,”. 1 75 

Lorritner Littlegood, by author “ Harry Coverdale’s Courtship,' 1 1 75 

The Bari’s Secret. A Love Story. By Miss Pardoe, 1 75 

The Adopted Heir. By Miss Pardoe, author of “The Earl’s Secret,” 1 75 


Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


1^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on reoeipt of Retail Price* 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


6 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 


The following books art each issued in one large duodecimo volume, 
bound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or each one it in paper cover , at $1.50 each. 
The Conscript; or, the Days of Napoleon 1st. By Alex. Dumas,. ...$1 75 
Cousin Harry. By Mrs. Grey, author of “The Gambler’s Wife,” etc. 1 75 
Saratoga. An Indian Tale of Frontier Life. A true Story of 1787,.. 1 75 

Married at Last. A Love Story. By Annie Thomas, 1 75 

Shoulder Straps. By Henry Morford, author of “Days of Shoddy,” 1 75 
Days of Shoddy. By Henry Morford, author of “Shoulder Straps,” 1 75 

The Coward. By Henry Morford, author of “ Shoulder Straps,” 1 75 

The Cavalier. By G. P. R. James, author of “Lord Montagu’s Page,” 1 75 


Rose Foster. By George W. M. Reynolds, Esq., 1 75 

Lord Montagu's Page. By G. P. R. James, author of “ Cavalier,”... 1 75 

Mrs. Ann S. Stephens’ Celebrated Novels. 21 volumes in all, 36 75 

Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth’s Popular Novels. 37 vols. in all, 64 75 

Mrs. Caroline Lee Hents’s Novels. Twelve volumes in all, 21 00 

Frederika Bremer’s Novels. Six volumes in all, 10 50 

T. A. Trollope’s Works. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

James A. Maitland’s Novels. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

Q. K. Philander Doestick’s Novels. Four volumes in all, 7 00 

Cook Books. The best in the world. Ten volumes in all, 17 50 

Henry Morford’s Novels. Three volumes in all, 5 25 

Mrs. Henry Wood’s Novels. Seventeen volumes in all, 29 75 

Emerson Bennett’s Novels. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

Green’s Works on Gambling. Four volumes in all, 7 00 

Miss Elixa A. Dupuy’s Works. Eleven volumes in all, 19 25 


Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

The following books are each issued in one large octavo volume, bound in 
cloth, at $2.00 each, or each one is done up in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, $2 00 

Mysteries of Paris ; and its Sequel, Gerolstein. By Eugene Sue,.... 2 00 

Martin, the Foundling. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, 2 00 

Ten Thousand a Year. By Samuel Warren. With Illustrations,.... 2 00 

Washington and His Generals. By George Lippard... 2 00 

The Quaker City; or, the Monks of Monk Hall. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Blanche of Brandywine. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Paul Ardenheim ; the Monk of Wissahickon. By George Lippard,. 2 00 

The Pictorial Tower of London. By W. Harrison Ainsworth, 2 00 

Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


The following are each issued in one large octavo volume, bound in doth, price $2.00 
each, or a cheap edition is issued in paper cover, at 75 cents each. 

Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever, Cloth, $2 00 

Harry Lorrequer. With his Confessions. By Charles Lever,... Cloth, 2 09 

Jack Hinton, the Guardsman. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Davenport Dunn. A Man of Our Day. By Charles Lever, ...Cloth, 2 00 

Tom Burke of Ours. By Charles Lever Cloth, 2 00 

The Knight of Gwynne. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Arthur O’Leary. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Con Cregan. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Horace Templeton. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Kate O’Donoghue. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. By Harry Cockton, Cloth, 2 00 

Above sire each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at 75 cents each. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Botail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 1 


NEW AND GOOD BOOKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 

Beautiful Snow, and Other Poems. New Illustrated Edition. By J. 

W. Watson. With Illustrations by E. L. Henry. One volume, green 
morocco cloth, gilt top, side, and back, price $2.00 ; or in maroon 

morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc., $3 01 

Tho Outcast, and Other Poems. By J. W. Watson. One volume, 
green morocco cloth, gilt top, side and back, price $2.00 ; or in ma- 
roon morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, ... 3 00 
The Young Magdalen; and Other Poems. By Francis S. Smith, 
editor of “ Tho New York Weekly.” With a portrait of the author. 
Complete in one large volume of 300 pages, bound in green mo- 
rooco cloth, gilt top, side, and back, price $3.00 ; or in maroon 
morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc...... 4 00 

Hans Breitmann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Volume One. Con- 


taining the “ First” “Second,” and “ Third Series” of the “ Breit- 

mann Ballad*,” bound in morocco cloth, gilt, beveled boards, 3 00 

Hans Breif.mann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Volume Two. 
Containing the “ Fourth ” and “ Fifth Series” of the “ Breitmann 

Ballads” bound in morocco cloth, gilt, beveled boards, 2 00 

Hans Breitinann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Being tho above 
two volumes complete in one. In one largo volume, bound in 
morocco cloth, gilt side, gilt top, and full gilt back, with beveled 

boards. With a full and complete Glossary to the whole work, 4 00 

Meister Karl's Sketch Book. By Charles G. Leland, (Hans Breit- 
mann.) Complete in one volume, green morocco cloth, gilt side, 
gilt top, gilt back, with beveled boards, price $2.50, or in maroon 

morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc., 3 50 

Historical Sketches of Plymouth, Luzerne Co., Penna. By Hendrick 

B. Wright, of Wilkesbarre. With Twenty-five Photographs, 4 00 

John Jasper’s Secret. A Sequel to Charles Dickens’ u Mystery of 

Edwin Drood.” With 18 Illustrations. Bound in cloth, 2 00 

The Last Athenian. From the Swedish of Victor Rydberg. Highly 
recommended by Fredrika Bremer. Paper $1.50, or in cloth, 2 00 


Across the Atlantic. Letters from France, Switzerland, Germany, 

Italy, and Englaud. By C. H. Haeseler, M.D. Bound in cloth,... 2 00 
The Ladies’ Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners. By 
Miss Leslie. Every lady should have it. Cloth, full gilt back,... 1 75 
The Ladies’ Complete Guide to Needlework and Embroidery. With 

113 illustrations. By Miss Lambert. Cloth, full gilt back, 1 75 

Tho Ladies’ Work Table Book. With 27 illustrations. Cloth, gilt,. 1 50 
The Story of Elizabeth. By Miss Thackeray, paper $1.00, or cloth,... 1 50 
Dow’s Short Patent Sermons. By Dow, Jr. In 4 vols., cloth, each.... 1 50 
Wild Oats Sown Abroad. A Spicy Book. By T. B. Witrner, cloth,... 1 50 
Aunt Patty's Scrap Bag. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, author of 

u Linda,” etc. Full of Illustrations, and bound in cloth, 1 50 

Hollisk’s Anatomy and Physiology of the Human Figure. Illustrated 
by a perfect dissected plate of the Human Organization, and by 
other separate plates of the Human Skeleton, such as Arteries, 

Veins, the Heart, Lungs, Trachea, etc. Illustrated. Bound, 2 00 

Life and Adventures of Don Quixote and his Squire Sancho Panza, 
complete in one large volume, paper cover, for $1.00, or in cloth,.. 1 75 
The Laws and Practice of the Game of Euchre, as adopted by the 

Euchre Club of Washington, D. C. Bound in cloth, 1 00 

Riddell's Model Architect. With 22 large full page colored illus- 
trations, and 44 plates of ground plans, with plans, specifications, 
costs of building, etc. One large quarto volume, bound $15 00 

Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Pris«i 
by T. B. Peterson A Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS, 


NEW AND GOOD BOOKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 


Treason at Home. A Novel. By Mrs. Greenough, cloth $1 75 

Letters from Europe. By Colonel John W. Forney. Bound in cloth, 1 75 
Moore’s Life of Hon. Schuyler Colfax, with a Portrait on steel, cloth, 1 50 

Whitcfrinrs j or, The Days of Charles the Second. Illustrated, 1 00 

Tan-go-ru-a. An Historical Drama, in Prose. By Mr. Moorhead,.... 1 00 

The Impeachment Trial of President Andrew Johnson. Cloth, 1 50 

Trial of the Assassins for the Murder of Abraham Lincoln. Cloth,... ] 50 
Lives of Jack Sheppard and Guy Fawkes. Illustrated. One yol., cloth, 1 75 

Consuelo, and Countess of Rudolstadt. One volume, cloth, 2 00 

Monsieur Antoine. By George Sand. Illustrated. One vol., cloth, 1 00 

Frank Fairlcigh. By author of “ Lewis Arundel,” cloth, 1 75 

Lewis Arundel. By author of “ Frank Fairleigh,” cloth, 1 75 

Aurora Floyd. By Miss Braddon. One vol., paper 75 cents, cloth,... 1 00 
Christy and White’s Complete Ethiopian Melodies, bound in cloth,... 1 00 

The Life of Charles Dickens. By R. Shelton Mackenzie, cloth, 2 00 

Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott. One 8vo. volume, fine binding, 5 00 

Life of Sir Walter Scott. By John G. Lockhart. With Portrait, 2 50 

The Shakspeare Novels. Complete in one large octavo volume, cloth, 4 00 
Miss Pardoe’s Choice Novels. In one large octavo volume, cloth,... 4 00 
The Waverley Novels. National Edition. Five large 8vo. vols., cloth, 1 5 00 
Charles Dickens' Works. People’s 12 mo. Edition. 21 vols., cloth, 32 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. Green Cloth 12wio. Edition. 21 vols., cloth, 40 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. Illustrated 127/io. Edition. 34 vols., cloth, 50 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. Illustrated Svo. Edition. 18 vols., cloth, 31 50 
Charles Dickens’ Works. New National Edition. 7 volumes, cloth, 20 00 

HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATED WORKS. 

Each one is full of Illustrations, by Felix O. C. Darley, and bound in Cloth. 


Major Jones’ Courtship and Travels. With 21 Illustrations, $1 75 

Major Jones’ Scenes in Georgia. With 16 Illustrations, 1 75 

Simon Suggs’ Adventures and Travels. With 17 Illustrations, 1 75 

Swamp Doctor’s Adventures in the South-West. 14 Illustrations,... 1 75 

Col. Thorpe’s Scenes in Arkansaw. With 16 Illustrations, 1 75 

The Big Bear’s Adventures and Travels. With 18 Illustrations, 1 75 

High Life in New York, by Jonathan Slick. With Illustrations,.... 1 75 

Judge Haliburton’s Yankee Stories. Illustrated, 1 75 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship and Marriage. Illustrated, 1 75 

Piney Wood’s Tavern; or, Sam Slick in Texas. Illustrated, 1 75 

Sam Slick, the Clockmakcr. By Judge Haliburton. Illustrated,... 1 75 
Humors of Falconbridge. By j. F. Kelley. With Illustrations, ... 1 75 
Modern Chivalry. By Judge Breckenridge. Two vols., each 1 75 


Neal’s Charcoal Sketches. By Joseph C. Neal. 21 Illustrations,... 2 50 

CHARLES LEVER’S BEST WORKS. 


Charles O’Malley, 75 

Harry Lorrequer, 75 

Jack Hinton, 75 

Tom Burke of Ours, 75 

Knight of Gwynne, 75 


Arthur O’Leary, 75 

Con Cregan, 75 

Da venport Dunn, 75 

Horace Templeton, 75 

Kate O’Donoghue, 75 


Above are in paper cover, or a fine edition in cloth at $2.00 each. 

A Rent in a Cloud, 50 | St. Patrick’s Eve, 50 

Ten Thousand a Year, in one volume, paper cover, $1.50 ; or in cloth, 2 00 
The Diary of a Medical Student, by author “ Ten Thousand a Year,” 75 


1^* Above Book* will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prices 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATION'S. 9 


DUMAS’, REYNOLDS’, AND OTHER BOOKS IN CLOTH. 

The following are cloth editions of the following good books, and they are 
each issued in one large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75 each. 

The Three Guardsmen ; or. The Three Mousquetaire*. By A. Dumas, $1 75 
Twenty \ears After; or the *' Second Series of Three Guardsmen,” ... 1 75 
Bragelonne; Son of Athos ; or “ Third Series of Three Guardsmen,” 1 75 
The Iron Mask ; or the “ Fourth Series of The Three Guardsmen,” .... 1 75 
Louise La Valliere; or the “ Fifth Series and End of the Three 

Guardsmen Series,” 1 75 

The Memoirs of a Physician. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 75 
Queen's Necklace; or “ Second Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
6ix Years Later; or the “ Third Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
Countess of Charny ; or “ Fourth Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
Andree De Taverney ; or “ Fifth Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
The Chevalier; or the “Sixth Series und End of the Memoirs of a 

Physician Series ,” 1 75 

The Adventures of a Marquis. By Alexander Dumas 1 75 

Edmond Dantes. A Sequel to the “ Count o* Monte-Cristo,” 1 75 

The Forty-Five Guardsmen. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 75 
Diana of Meridor, or Lady of Monsoreau. By Alexander Duma*,... 1 75 
The Iron Hand. By Alex. Dumas, author “Count of Monte-Cristo,” 1 75 
The Mysteries of tho Court of London. By George W. M. Reynold*, 1 75 
Rose Foster; or the “Second Series of Mysteries of Court of London,” 1 75 
Caroline of Brunswick; or the “ Third Series of the Court of London ,” 1 75 
Venctia Trelawney; or “ End of the Mysteries of the Court of London,” 1 75 

Lord Saxondale ; or the Court of Queen Victoria. By Reynolds, 1 75 

Count Christoval. Sequel to “ Lord Saxondale.” By Reynolds, 1 75 

Rosa Lambert; or Memoirs of an Unfortunate Woman. By Reynolds, 1 
Mary Price; or tho Adventures of a Servant Maid. By Reynolds,... 1 
Eustace Quentin. Sequel to “Mary Price.” By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 
Joseph Wiltnot; or the Memoirs of a Man Servant. By Reynolds,... 1 

Banker’s Daughter. Sequel to “Joseph Wilmot.” By Reynolds, 1 75 

Kenneth. A Romance of the Highlands. By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 

Rye-House Plot; or the Conspirator’s Daughter. By Reynolds, 1 75 

Necromancer; or the Times of Henry the Eighth. By Reynolds, 1 75 

Within the Maze. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ East Lynne,”. 1 75 
Dene Hollow. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Within the Maze,” 1 75 
Bess}’- Pwane. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “The Channings,”.... 1 75 
George Canterbury’s Will. By Mrs. Wood, author “Oswald Cray,” 1 75 
The Channings. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Dene Hollow,”... 1 75 

Roland Yorke. *A Sequel to “ The Channings.” By Mrs. Wood, 1 75 

Shadow of Ashlydyatt. By Mrs. Wood, author of “ Bessy Ranc,” 1 75 

Lord Oakburn’s Daughters ; or Tho Earl’s Heirs. By Mrs. Wood,... 1 75 
Ycrner’s Pride. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “The Channings,” 1 75 
The Castle’s Heir; or Lady Adelaide’s Oath. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 
Oswald Cray. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “Roland Yorke,”.... 1 75 

Squire Trevlyn's Heir; or Trevlyn Hold. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 

The Red Court Farm. By Mrs. Wood, author of “ Verner’s Pride,”... 1 75 
Elstcr’s Folly. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Castle’s Heir,”... 1 75 
St. Martin’s Eve. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “Dene Hollow,” 1 75 
Mildred Arkell. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “East Lynne,”.... 1 75 
Cyrilla; or the Mysterious Engagement. By author of “ Initials,” 1 75 

The Miser’s Daughter. By William Harrison Ainsworth, 1 75 

Tho Mysteries of Florence. By Geo. Lippard, author “ Quaker City,” 1 75 


^ Above Books will be lent, postaga paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


12 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS. 


Count of Monte-Crist.o, $1 50 

Edmond Dantes, 75 

The Three Guardsmen,.... 75 

Twenty Years After, 75 

Bragelonne, 75 

The Iron Mask 1 00 

Louise La Valliere, 1 00 

Diuua of Meridor, 1 00 

Adventures of a Marquis, 1 00 

Love and Liberty, 1 50 


Memoirs of a Physicia*, $1 00 

Queen’s Necklace, 1 00 

Six Years Later, 1 00 

Countess of Charny, 1 00 

Andree de Taverney, 1 00 

The Chevalier, 1 00 

Forty-five Guardsmen, 1 00 

The Iron Hand, 75 

The Conscript, 1 50 

Countess of Monte-Cristo, 1 


Camille; or, The Fate of a Coquette, (La Dame Aux Camelias,) 1 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 

The Fallen Angel, 75 

Felina do Chambure, 75 

The Horrors of Paris, 75 

Sketches in France, 75 

Isabel of Bavaria, 75 

Twin Lieutenants, 75 

Man with Five Wives, 75 

George ; or, Isle of France...... 75 


00 
50 

Annette ; or, Lady of Pearls,... 50 

Madame De Chauiblay 50 

The Black Tulip, 50 

The Corsican Brothers, 50 

Tho Count of Moret,.... 50 

Mohicans of Paris, 50 

Tho Marriage Verdict, 50 

Buried Alive, 25 


GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS’ WORKS. 


Mysteries Court of London,. ...$1 

Bose Foster, 1 

Caroline of Brunswick, 1 

Venetia Trclawuey, 1 

Lord Saxondale, 1 

Count Christoval, 1 

Rosa Lambert, 1 


00 Mary Price, $1 

50 Eustace Quentin, 1 

00 Joseph Wilmot., 1 

00 Banker’s Daughter, 1 

00 Kenneth, 1 

00 The Bye-House Plot, 1 

00 The Necromancer, 1 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 


Tho Opera Dancer, 75 

Child of Waterloo, 75 

Robert Bruce, 75 

The Gipsy Chief, 75 

Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots,.. 75 

Wallace, Hero of Scotland, 1 00 

Isabella Vincent, 75 

Vivian Bertram, 75 

Countess of Lasoelles, 75 

Duke of Marchmort, 75 

Massacre of Glencoe, 75 

Loves of the Harem, 75 


The Soldier’s Wife, 75 

May Middleton, 75 

Ellen Percy, 75 

Agnes Evelyn, 75 

Pickwick Abroad, 75 

Parricide, 75 

Discarded Queen, 75 

Life in Paris, 50 

Countess and the Pago 50 

Edgar Montrose, 50 

The Ruined Gamester, 50 

Clifford and the Actress, 60 


Queen Joanna; or the Mysteries of the Court of Naples, 75 

Ciprina; or, the Secrets of a Picturo Gallery, 50 

MISS PARDOE’S POPULAR WORKS. 


The Rival Beauties, 75 

Romance of the Harem, 75 


Confessions of a Pretty Woman, 75 

The Wife’s Trials 75 

The Jealous Wife, 50 

The five above books are also bound in one volume, cloth, for $4.00. 

The Adopted Heir. One volume, paper, $1.50; or in cloth, $1 75 

Tho Earl’s Secret. One volume, paper, $1.50; or in cloth, 1 75 


QjF* Above books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prioe, 
by T. B. Peteraron A Brother, Philadelphia, Pa. 


GET DP CLUBS FOR 1875! WE PRE-PAT POSTAGE!! 


PETERSON’S MAGAZINE 


THE CHEAPEST AND BEST OF ALL. *=$3?r 


“PETERSON’S MAGAZINE ” is the best and cheapest lady's book in the world, 
and has the largest circulation. It contains, yearly, 1000 pages, 12 colored patterns, 
14 steel plates, 12 mammoth colored fashions, and 900 wood engravings — and all this 
for only TWO DOLLARS A YEAR, or about half the price of periodicals of its class. 
Still further to deserve its popularity 

IT WILL BE GREATLY IMPROVED IN 1875! 

The stories in “ Peterson ” are conceded to he the best published anywhere. Mrs. 
Ann S. Stephens, Frank Lee Benedict, Mrs. R. Harding Davis, F. Hodgson Burnett, 
Jeanie T. Gould, Marietta Holley, besides all the best female writers of America, are 
regular contributors. In addition to 100 shorter storieB, there will be given, in 1S75, 

FIVE ORIGINAL COPYRIGHTED NOVELETTES ! 

In the number and beauty of ita Illustrations, also, “PETERSON *’ is unrivalled. 
The Publisher challenges a comparison between its 

j&gr STEEL AND MEZZOTINT ENGRAVINGS-^* 

And the inferior engravings, generally merely wood-cuts, given elsewhere. 

MAMMOTH O0L0BIB FASHIQI FLATUS I 

These are printed from steel plates, and colored by hand, and cost ten thousand 
dollars more , every year , than the cheap colored lithographed fashions in other Magazines. 

COLORED PATTERNS IN EMBROIDERY, CROCHET , Etc. 

The Work-Table Department of the Magazine is Wholly Unrivalled. Every 
number contains dozens of patterns. Superb Colored Designs for Slippers, Sofa 
Cushions, &c., given — each of which at a retail store would cost Fifty Cents. 

RECEIPTS FOR COOKING, THE TOILETTE, SICK ROOM, Etc. 

Maw and Fashionable Music in every number. Hints on Horticulture, Ae., Ac, 


TERMS : ALWAYS IN ADVANCE. 

ONE COPY, One Year, (Postage Pre-Paid,) TWO DOLLARS ! 


LIBERAL 

POSTAGE PRE-PAID. 

2 Copies for $3.60 


8 

4 


4.80 

6.20 


OFFERS FOR CLUBS. 

PREMIUM FOR THE CLUB. 

With a copy of our large-size mezzotint (21 inches 
by 2G) postage prepaid, “ Washington’s First Inter- 
view with Ills Wife,” (the most costly and beautiful 
engraving ever offered as a premium,) to the person 
getting up the club. 


POSTAGE PRE-PAID. 

6 Copies for $10.00 
© “ “ 14.00 

13 “ “ 18.00 


PREMIUMS FOR THE CLUB. 

With both an extra copy of the Magazine, for one 
year, postage pre-paid, and a copy of our beautiful 
large-sized mezzotint, “Washington’s First Inter- 
view with IIis Wife,” (the most costly and elegant 
ever offered,) to the person getting up the club. 


In Remitting, get a Post-Office Order on Philadelphia, or a draft on Philadel- 
phia or Now York, if neither of these can bo had, send Greenbacks or Notes of Na- 
tional Bank*. In the latter case, register your letter. Address , post-paid , 


CHARLES J. PETERSON, 

306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. 
Specimens seat to those wishing to got up clubs. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ BOOK HORSE. 



K#ikT.B .P ET ERSON OTHER 

BUSHIN CA. BOOKS ECtlNO ESTABLISHMENT 


HtfH* 




T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS are the American publishers of the popular 
books written by Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth, Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, Mrs. 
Caroline Lee Hentz, Miss Eliza A. Dupuy, Doesticks, Emerson Bennett, 
T. S. Arthur, George Lippap.d, IIans Breitmann (Charles G. Leland), James A. 
Maitland, Charles Dickens, Sir Walter Scott, Charles Lever, Wilkie Collins, 
Alexander Dumas, G. W. M. Reynolds, Samuel Warren, Henry Cockton, Fred- 
rik a Bremer, T. A. Trollope, Dow’s Patent Sermons, Madams George Sand, 
Eugene Sue, Miss Pardoe, Mrs. Henry Wood, Frank Fairlegh, W. H. Ainsworth, 
Miss Ellen Pickering, Captain Marryatt, Mrs, Gray, G. P. R. James, Gustave 
Aimard, and hundreds of other authors. 

Persons out of employment are requested to send for our Canvassers’ Confiden- 
tial Circular. Large Wages can be made, and Constant Employment given. 

Show Bills, Catalogues, Circulars, etc., etc., sent free to all customers. Our Whole- 
sale Price Lists and Catalogue will be sent to any one on application. 

Orders solicited from Booksellers, Canvassers, News Agents, and all others in want 
of good and fast-selling books, and they will please send on their orders at once. 

Enclose $o. $10, $20, $50. $100 or more, to us in a letter, and write what kind of 
books you wish, and on receipt of the money the books will be sent to you at once, 
fer express, or in any way you may direct, with circulars, show hills, etc. 

Address all orders, retail or wholesale, to meet with immediate attention, to 

T. B. PETERSON and BROTHERS, 

No. 300 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 











































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